


We'll See You In Cape Town

by frankiesin



Series: Say It With Neon [2]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: (not that mm17 was ever really canon), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Break Up, Families of Choice, Family Drama, Multi, Pete Wentz's Piss Kink, Polyamory, Post-Break Up, Post-Split, Some Smut But Mostly Feelings, Trans Character, Transphobia, fever era, oh jeez
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2018-12-07 02:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 86,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11614020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankiesin/pseuds/frankiesin
Summary: July 25, 2009 is the day that marks the beginning and end of Panic! at the Disco as we know it. These are the events leading up to, and following, the one day in Cape Town that changed everything.This is the story of the band that never should have made it.(Sequel to Mile Marker 17)





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pardon my incoherancy, but I've been up since seven AM and my brain thinks it's four in the morning even though I'm in Atlanta now and it's only 10 PM. Basically, I flew across the Atlantic today and jetlag is kicking my ass. Also, the flight was delayed for three hours and I legit wrote a third of this on the plane ride back to the states. 
> 
> Get on my fucking level, fellow procrastinators. 
> 
> Anyway, if you've been following me on tumblr (@wsyict, but I'm changing to @fluffydallon soon), you've probably seen me posting cryptic shit about something called "wsyict." Well, this is it. It's the "what happens to mm17 panic! after they leave Chicago on tour with fob" fic. It's gonna be long. It's gonna be a wild ride. 
> 
> Tomorrow morning, I'm gonna be posting more coherant shit on my tumblr, so if you're sitting at your laptop or whatever going "what the fuck is Jeff on about now," that'll exist. And please remember that, to me, it feels like four in the morning. When have I ever made sense at four in the morning. 
> 
> Now, without further ado (and so I can go the fuck to sleep), here is the first part of We'll See You In Cape Town (or WSYICT, in case you hadn't made the connection yet)

**July 27, 2009; London, England.**

 

Spencer booted up his laptop. The news of the split still hadn't reached any news outlets, thankfully, and most of the Google searches about Panic! involved Rochelle and Jon’s wedding. Spencer let out a deep sigh of relief and opened a new tab, pulling up a site to search for an apartment. 

 

There were echoes of Cape Town in his ears as he looks through the apartment options. He could visualise the dark night, the yelling, and Jon's pissed off expression. Spencer hoped that he and Rochelle would remember the wedding instead of what happened the day after. He hoped that Dallon and Brendon were doing okay, and that they weren't worried about him. Spencer hadn't contacted any of them since he disappeared into the night. He didn't know if there’d be a band to go back to, if he ever decided to go back. 

 

He checked his phone for the time, because his laptop still thought it was in Las Vegas. Spencer never changed the timezone on his laptop, so that he'd always know what time it was at home. It was a little after eight in London and just past midnight in Vegas. His parents would be asleep, and Jackie would be up working on her latest art project while Crystal and her friends exchanged fake IDs and tried to slip into 21+ clubs downtown. 

 

Spencer smiled, thinking about his family. He'd call them, tonight, and let them know that he was fine. He opened up his contact list and clicked on Linda's name. She was still in Cape Town, most likely checking out of her hotel to head to the airport and back to Chicago. 

 

“Spencer?” Linda said through the phone. “Where the fuck are you?”

 

“London,” Spencer said. “If anyone's there, please don't tell them. I'm… I'm trying to stay under the radar. I needed space.”

 

“Well, you got it. What the fuck were you thinking?” she hissed through the phone. Spencer looked out of the window, at the industrial city three stories below. He didn't have a good answer. He could hear Linda saying something to someone on the other end of the phone. “I'm coming to England. You're not going to be a dumbass on your own.”

 

“Don't--” Spencer said. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Don't come here. I'm fine, I promise, I just can't. I need to reset, and figure out what the fuck I'm supposed to do now, and I can't do that in Cape Town or in Vegas or even,  _ fuck _ , I can't even do it in Chicago, okay? I need space.”

 

“I still think you're being a dumbass,” Linda said. Part of Spencer agreed with her. 

 

“Once I find a permenant place to stay,” Spencer said. “Should I send you the address?”

 

“Obviously,” Linda said. “Who else is going to send you entire Lego sets piece by piece?”

 

Spencer laughed. “Please do not do that. Just send me an Amazon gift card or something if you want me to have something to do in my spare time. I'd rather become an Amazon addict than the American in London who gets single Lego pieces from Chicago.”

 

“They might not all be from Chicago. One of the companies I've been talking with is based in LA, So I might be moving there after graduation,” Linda said. 

 

“Oh, shit, that's awesome,” Spencer said. He asked what kind of job it'd be, and then he and Linda veered from the original conversation onto Linda's future. It was easier to think about than to think about what Spencer was doing. He didn't know what he was doing, and he was scared. He knew money wouldn't be an issue, because he had two albums worth of sales to live off of, but he'd never been on his own like this before. He'd had his parents, and then Rochelle when they moved to Chicago, and then for the past four years, he'd had his band with him, and he hadn't needed anything else. 

 

Spencer wasn't sure if he'd be okay on his own, but he couldn't go back now. Panic! was dissolved, Rochelle and Jon were married and on their own, and Spencer had broken himself off from them all. 

 

He buried himself in looking for a cheap apartment, and spent the entire morning doing that. He made a list of some that seemed reasonable, as well as checking out the area they were in. Spencer knew how to look for a place to stay. He'd done that before. He wasn't entirely clueless. 

 

Spencer's phone buzzed while he was checking out a duplex in West London. He paused. It was a text from Rochelle. Spencer stared at his phone until the screen faded to black again, and then he pressed the home button so that he could see Rochelle's message. 

 

_ good luck -r _

 

Spencer smiled. He would take it for what it was worth. 

 

* * *

 

**December 20, 2005; Las Vegas, Nevada.**

 

Spencer knew, objectively, that she was fine. She’d done everything the way it was supposed to be done, had Spencer’s dad and Jon with her as witnesses, and looked just like any other girl. Even knowing that, and knowing that this was Ry, the woman who had taken their band from two greasy emo kids with a dream to a quintet of snazzy rock stars who were going to jet off to Europe in a month, Spencer was still nervous. It was a perfectly rational feeling to have; Ry was about to change who she was forever. Spencer supported her--they all supported her--but it was still terrifying. 

 

“Due, seriously,  _ I’m _ getting nervous from watching you,” Brendon said. He’d been trying to distract Spencer with video games for the last hour, but it wasn’t working. “It’s just signing papers. Ry knows how to write. You know that, right?”

 

“I know, it’s just…” Spencer sighed, setting the controller down. “It sucks that she has to do it on her own.”

 

“Jon and your dad are there.”

 

“That’s not the same as having her own parents there with her. Ry’s mom hasn’t talked to her since Ry told her, and I doubt Ry’s planning to talk to her dad about any of this,” Spencer said. He knew for a fact that Ry hadn’t seen or spoken to her dad since they’d all left for Chicago a year and a half ago. Spencer wasn’t sure how Ry (or Brendon or Dallon, for that matter) had managed to avoid her family for the past few days that they’d been back in Vegas. They hadn’t had time to fully unpack yet, because there’d been a show on their first night back, and then Pete had taken the band out to go exploring the city. Spencer had really only been home for a day and a half, and he’d been helping his parents with Christmas stuff for most of it. 

 

Spencer’s parents had let the band crash in the basement while they sorted their break plans out. It was nice, because it meant that no one had to pay for a hotel room, and Spencer didn’t have to choose between staying with his parents and staying with his friends. 

 

Jon was going back to his parents’ house in Chicago for Christmas in a few days. Spencer wasn’t sure if Ry was going with him, or if she was going to stay with the Smiths in Vegas for Christmas, since Jon would be back for New Year’s. Ry was always welcome at the Smiths house, because she was basically one of Spencer’s sisters at this point, and Spencer’s parents considered her an unofficial adopted daughter. Ry had a boyfriend now, and Jon’s parents liked her, so she had options now. 

 

Brendon bumped his elbow against Spencer’s. “Stop worrying. They’ll be back soon, and then the two of you can go upstairs and be nostalgic or whatever you two had planned.”

 

Spencer rolled his eyes. “We’re just burning her high school stuff. To be symbolic.”

 

“I told you they were doing something weird once Ry got her name changed!” Brendon yelled towards the open back door. Dallon was out in the backyard, being tall and helping Spencer’s mom put up the Christmas lights. Ginger had taken to Dallon immediately, which Spencer was thankful for. He knew that the age gap between him and Dallon was a lot, and he’d been worried that his mom would get on him for dating an older person, but that hadn’t happened. Dallon was quickly becoming Ginger’s favourite; she seemed to like them more than her own kids, sometimes. Spencer wasn’t bitter. He’d rather have his parents fawn over his partners than hate them and make them stay somewhere else for the holidays. Dallon and Brendon had been kicked out enough. 

 

“We weren’t taking bets on that!” Dallon yelled back, which sounded like something someone who had just lost a bet would say. Spencer called them out on it, and then ignored Dallon’s response to lean over and kiss his boyfriend, catching Brendon by surprise. 

 

Brendon dropped his controller and kissed back, sitting up and moving so that he was practically in Spencer’s lap. The three of them hadn’t had sex-sex yet, what with all of the touring and living in a van or with Spencer’s parents for the entirety of their relationship. They’d managed the occasional backstage or backseat handjob, whenever Jon and Ryan weren’t around, but it wasn’t enough. Spencer was starting to get frustrated with the lack of privacy in his life.

 

He wasn’t so frustrated that he was willing to get down and dirty with Brendon while the back door was open and his mom could come in at any moment, though. He was a sexually frustrated, nervous and hormonal eighteen year old, but he still had  _ standards _ . He pulled back from Brendon’s mouth, placing his hand over Brendon’s lips so he didn’t try to kiss Spencer again. 

 

Brendon frowned under Spencer’s hand. “Spence, what the fuck.”

 

“My mom is right there,” Spencer said. “I know she’s cool with, like, everything, but I don’t think she wants to see me making out with anyone. Like, ever.”

 

“Ugh, fine. When my dick turns blue and falls off, I’m blaming you,” Brendon said, and slid off of Spencer’s lap. 

 

Spencer had perfect timing, apparently, because as soon as Brendon was settled down into the couch cushions and pouting angrily at Spencer, he heard the door opening, followed by Jon and Ry’s voices. Spencer sat up, turning around to lean over the couch so he could see his best friend.

 

Ry was dressed in a skirt and heels, holding a manila folder in her hand and looking raiant. She broke into a grin when she noticed Spencer leaning over the couch. “It’s official, Spence. I’m not legalls Rochelle Alexa Ross.”

 

Spencer grinned back and jumped over the couch to tackle her in a hug. Rochelle had been a girl the whole time, Spencer knew that, but now the rest of the world would have no choice but to accept it. She’d still be credited on  _ Fever _ under her dead name, but other than that, there’d be no evidence left that she’d been George Ryan Ross. Rochelle wasn’t even bothered by having Ryan Ross on  _ Fever _ , because she’d always been okay with Ryan as a name. She still used Ry and RyRo as nicknames, because they’d been her online identity for years, and they were neutral enough and personal enough that she didn’t want to give them up. 

 

“Merry Christmas, then,” Spencer said, and Rochelle laughed. Spencer had helped her set everything up, because she’d been the one to help set up his top surgery back in September. He’d also done it for the sake of friendship, because he wasn’t the kind of asshole who kept score on who’d done the most in a friendship. It didn’t matter. Spencer just wanted Rochelle to be happy.

 

Spencer let go of Rochelle, and then they headed out back to update Dallon and Spencer’s mom. Dallon wrapped Ry in a hug, burying their face in her shoulder. Spencer wondered if Dallon ever saw Breezy in Rochelle, or if they were two seperate people in Dallon’s mind. He wouldn’t be surprised if Dallon saw the similarities between the two women. They were both stubborn dreamers, and they’d both deserved better than what life gave them. Spencer was glad that Rochelle was still here, still fighting back, and still getting the life she deserved. He was proud of her. He couldn’t not be.

 

“This is pretty awesome,” Jon said. Spencer jumped, not realising that Jon was right there. Jon just smiled and shook his head. “You guys are fucking amazing, seriously. If I’d had to go through half the shit you guys did, I don’t think I would have made it.”

 

“It’s not a competition, but I know what you mean,” Spencer said. “We’re all the lucky ones.”

 

“We’re like something straight out of a novel,” Jon said. Spencer must have looked at him funny, because he continued. “Seriously. I’ve been in the Chicago scene since I was like, fourteen or fifteen years old, and I’ve never seen a band get off the ground the way we did. We’re like one of those generic ass, Christian infused football movies where the pretty white lady takes in the suffering kid and turns him into a sports star and there’s an overhyped, sugary end scene. That’s us, except with music instead of football.”

 

“I’m glad it’s music,” Spencer said. “Because I kind of suck at football.”

 

“I could teach you,” Jon said. “My older brother was on our high school’s varsity team, and he tried to get me into it, but I didn’t care about sports. I totally remember how it works, though.”

 

“Don’t you need more people for that?” Spencer said, scrunching up his nose. He didn’t hate sports, really, but he had a bad history with them. Being a butch lesbian, and then later an awkward trans guy who couldn’t fucking run in a binder, had made sports a pain in the ass. The girls always avoided him because he was weird, and the guys babied him because they thought he was just a girl who thought she was tough. 

 

“We’ve got Pete and his guys, plus TAI… and I think Gabe’s supposed to be hopping on the tour at some point. I never know what Gabe’s doing, to be honest,” Jon said. “It’d be enough people. We could pull it off.”

 

“Maybe,” Spencer said. “I’d have to know the rules first.”

 

Jon waved his hand. “Those are easy. Hockey’s a bitch to understand, though. Hockey can wait.”

 

“Don’t people get beaten up in hockey?” Spencer asked, trying to remember the times he’d watched sports with his dad. There weren’t many hockey teams in Las Vegas, because it was, well,  _ Las fucking Vegas _ . Spencer’s dad had still found a hockey team to root for anyway. His dad was really into sports, even though he didn’t play them much. It was probably a straight people thing that Spencer never got to experience, being obsessed with sports. 

 

Jon waved his hand. “Only in the good games. The worst I ever got was a black eye.”

 

“You played hockey.” It was more of a statement than a question, but Spencer was still surprised. He thought that Jon was the kind of guy who was under-the-radar cool in high school, and got out unscathed not by being an athletic prodigy, but by being in the social center. Everyone knew Jon, everyone knew to go to Jon for cool shit, but no one hated him or felt like he was a part of their clique. 

 

“Kind of,” Jon said. “Chicago gets cold, and there aren’t any mountains, so hockey’s the only sport that fits. I wasn’t good enough to play competitively, though. I didn’t like hitting people for no reason.”

 

“Winning wasn’t a good enough reason?” Spencer asked, half joking.

 

“In case you haven’t realised, I’m the least competitive person in the world,” Jon said. “I was more interested in having fun and not freezing my ass off. Scoring wasn’t important.”

 

“Can’t relate,” Spencer said, because one time he’d almost left Dallon at a gas station because Dallon kept beating him in whatever game they were playing on the road and Spencer was feeling petty. 

 

After the lights were set up, and Rochelle and Spencer had dragged all of her high school shit down to the driveway to burn it, the five band members gathered up their stuff to go move into actual bedrooms. Rochelle and Jon were in the guest room, and Dallon and Brendon were going to be in Spencer’s room. Spencer had no idea how he’d convinced his parents to let his partners share a room with him, but he had, and he wasn’t complaining about it. Any privacy was good privacy.

 

“Wow,” Brendon said, ducking under Spencer’s arm to get into his room. “Your room is way more decorated than I thought it would be. I thought you were into minimalism and shit.”

 

Spencer rolled his eyes, wishing he’d asked his dad to take down the Pete Wentz poster from his ceiling. It was weird to look at, now that Spencer had seen Pete Wentz entirely naked and pissing on another band’s bus. Pete wasn’t a faraway, untouchable celebrity anymore. He was a real dude, he was tiny, and he liked jumping on people’s backs and pissing on things to claim them as his own. He was like a dog. A really weird dog, who probably had a piss kink. 

 

“I only brought a suitcase to Chicago, Bren,” Spencer said. “I kind of had to be minimalist.”

 

“You also forgot bedsheets,” Dallon said. They set their duffel down by the door and crossed the room to Spencer. Dallon cupped Spencer’s cheeks in their hands and leaned down, kissing them softly. Spencer’s hands went to Dallon’s waist immediately as he kissed back, keeping it relaxed. He wanted to get naked with Dallon and Brendon both, but he wanted to do it when his parents and his sisters were out of the house. Spencer wasn’t too worried about Jon or Rochelle walking in on them. They were also a young couple, desperate from months of being in a van and in love with each other. 

 

Dallon pulled back from Spencer, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes. “I can’t blame you, though. Your bedsheets are pretty damn ugly.”

 

“Don’t insult my bedsheets,” Spencer said. “You’re gonna be wearing them later.”

 

Brendon bounced on Spencer’s bed. He was still wearing shoes, somehow, and Spencer wanted to scream at him. It was a leftover childhood fear. Spencer’s mom hated it when her kids put their shoes on anything other than the floor. Once, Jackie had set her brand new Sketchers on the coffee table, and Ginger nearly lost her shit. Spencer’s mom didn’t freak out about much, but she had a thing about shoes, and Spencer tried to respect that.

 

Brendon flipped over so that he was on his back and looking up at Dallon and Spencer. There was a little strip of skin showing from where his t-shirt had ridden up. “Was that you trying to be seductive? Because you kind of suck at that.”

 

“You’re now banned from the orgy,” Spencer said, deadpan.

 

“You need more than two people for an orgy,” Dallon said. They raised an eyebrow at Spencer. “So unless there’s a special guest you’re not telling me about…”

 

“Wait, are you going to fuck Rochelle?” Brendon gasped, his eyes wide with shock. “Does Jon know? Wait, are you fucking both of them?  _ That’s _ wild.”

 

Spencer shook his head rapidly. “Ew, no. No way, Ry’s like a sister--they’re both like my siblings, what the fuck? Brendon, what the fuck?”

 

“It was a legitimate question,” Brendon said. It wasn’t. Spencer rolled his eyes. Brendon always asked the weird questions. It was endearing, but sometimes he made Spencer think about things that he’d rather not think about. Pete’s piss kink, for example. Spencer had known that piss kinks were a thing, and that there were people out there who had them, but Brendon had made it real. 

 

He just couldn’t stop asking questions about why Pete pissed on everything. Spencer was curious, but he also didn’t care, and knew that it was Pete Wentz, and the dude was  _ weird enough _ without any explanation behind his actions. But no, Brendon had to get Google involved, and then brought up watersports, and everything went downhill from there. Spencer still hadn’t mentioned it to Rochelle, because he didn’t want to be the one to put that image in her head. She’d sucked Pete’s dick, after all, and she had a strange imagination. 

 

“We’re not having sex with anyone,” Spencer said. “It’s just the three of us.”

 

“Cool,” Brendon said. He grinned and winked. “Because you two are hot and I like you both. I don’t want to share.”

 

“See, that’s flirting,” Dallon said, pointing at Brendon while looking at Spencer. 

 

Spencer pressed his palm to his face. He supposed that it wasn’t real love if they couldn’t tease him about his flaws. And Spencer didn’t mind in the slightest; he was smiling under his hand. He couldn’t be annoyed with either of his partners, not when they were that cute.

 

* * *

 

**July 31, 2009; London, England.**

 

Spencer tapped his fingers against his jeans. He checked the time on his phone again, but he was still a few minutes early. He didn't need to be so worried, but he was, because there was always a chance that hid potential future flatmate would flake out on him and he'd be back to square one. Spencer didn't want that. The flat looked nice from the pictures he'd seen online, and the woman who was looking for a roommate was friendly. 

 

A woman with dark skin and curly, copper coloured hair rushed through the door, looking around frantically. She had a denim bag covered in patches slung over her shoulder, and she pulled it up as she walked through the restaurant. Spencer perked up. She'd said online that she was a redhead, and that she liked sewing. 

 

He waved. The woman's face broke into a grin and she waved back before coming over to join Spencer at the booth in the back of the restaurant. She slid in across from him and dropped her bag to the floor. “Spencer, right?”

 

Spencer nodded. “Yeah, that's me. And you're Gwyn McIntire with a  _ y, _ right?”

 

“I am. Why'd you choose a spot in the back, love? We're not doing anything illegal, just talking about rent and all that,” she said. 

 

Spencer gave her a moment to look him over, figuring she might recognise him from his old band. Spencer hadn't had time to get a proper haircut, and he didn't like the way he looked when he shaved, so he still looked like the man on the Pretty. Odd. photos hanging in music shops. He wasn't that man, though. He'd already started to change. 

 

She didn't recognise him. Spencer tucked a strand of hair back behind his ear. He'd started putting his hair in a little bun because it was at his shoulders and he didn't want to look like a drugged up hippie, but there were still some strands too long to stay back. He bit his lip. “I'm kind of famous, and I don't want to attract any attention.”

 

Gwyn narrowed her eyes. “How famous? I don't want to be rooming with the next big Hollywood boy or anything like that.”

 

“I am-- _ was _ \--in a band. It's over, but we were big while we lasted, and we toured through here a few times,” Spencer said. “I was the drummer, so it's not like I've got a hoard of fangirls out for my blood or anything, but there are people who know my face.”

 

Gwyn made a face. “That's got to suck. I promise none of my mates listen to mainstream music, so you should be good there.”

 

Spencer laughed. “Thank God for hipsters.”

 

“Well, now that we've settled that, let's get down to the important stuff, shall we?” Gwyn asked, arching an eyebrow. Spencer nodded, and Gwyn turned, pulling a manilla file folder out of her denim bag. She opened it and pulled out a piece of paper. She tapped it with her nail, which was painted a glittery blue colour. “I know it looks like a lot, but most of these rules are the landlord's and not mine. I've also got the lease, the contract you need to sign, and a few good bars near by if you want to go out for a drink and start meeting people. I don't know how long you've been in London, but I'm guessing it's only been a few days.”

 

Spencer nodded. “About a week.”

 

“Not bad,” Gwyn said. She turned around in her seat and surveyed the restaurant, searching out the other people for anyone who might have been paying attention to the two people in the back. She turned back to Spencer and squared her shoulders. “One more thing. The flat's in a popular neighbourhood for gay people. Many of the bars are gay bars, and I'm… I'm also gay. Bisexual, really, but I've been seeing another girl and I wouldn't want to confuse you with all the terminology.”

 

“It's not a problem,” Spencer said. He smiled. “I'm bisexual too.”

 

* * *

 

**December 24, 2005; Las Vegas, Nevada.**

 

“Oh, Spencer, could you go grab some tomatoes? I need them for the salad,” Spencer said to himself in a mocking voice. He rolled his eyes as he meandered up and down the produce aisle, looking for any remaining tomatoes. Brendon and Dallon were hovering around with him, but they weren’t having any better luck. Spencer rolled his eyes at himself. “Sure, mom, let me just run out into the middle of the fucking last minute Christmas rush and find a tomato when they’re not even in season. Great plan. I hate salad.”

 

“You’re talking to yourself,” Brendon said. He was holding a tomato up to his face and staring it down, so it wasn’t like he looked any more normal. “It’s weird.”

 

“That tomato’s orange, it’s not ripe enough,” Spencer said. “Put it back.”

 

Dallon was staring at the red peppers as though they’d personally offended them. “How did your mom  _ forget _ tomatoes? Aren’t those necessary for a salad?”

 

“Technically, you only need leaves of some kind and a dressing for a salad,” Spencer said. He leaned over Brendon to grab a tomato that looked acceptable. He turned it around in his hand, and realised why no one had taken it yet: there was a dime-sized, squishy bruise on the back, and it was the ugliest colour Spencer had seen on a tomato. He set it back down, disappointed. “I don’t know, Dal. I think she had one, but it went bad or something? My mom’s weird.”

 

“I think she’s cool,” Brendon said. He dropped the orange tomato he’d been having a staring contest with, and reached for a different one. “Does this look good? I don't know shit about tomatoes.”

 

“You've been living on your own for over two years,” Dallon said, looking up from the peppers. Their eyebrows were furrowed, and they looked genuinely concerned by Brendon's lack of tomato knowledge. “How'd you never learn how to get a fresh tomato?”

 

“Well, all the tomatoes I ate were coming out of a jar,” Brendon said. “we weren't exactly loaded then. Jar tomatoes cost less than actual tomatoes.”

 

“Now that we're famous, you don't have an excuse. You'll have to learn how to cook with rich people food, like tomatoes,” Spencer said. He was entirely joking. He didn't like tomatoes that much, unless they were in pasta or pizza. Spencer didn't even like ketchup; he put mustard on his fries and Rochelle thought there was something wrong with him. It wasn't Spencer's fault that ketchup tasted like disappointment and bitterness. He didn't want to ruin his fries with that. 

 

Brendon stuck his tongue out at Spencer. Without really thinking about it, Spencer leaned over and kissed Brendon's nose. It was quick, but it was still public PDA and Spencer was passing as a guy more often than not now. The band was pretty open about their relationships, even though they'd never had to state anything publicly, but still, Spencer didn't want a simple moment like this to be his coming out moment. He and Brendon and Dallon deserved better. 

 

Nothing happened. A few older people gave Spencer and Brendon funny looks, but no one said anything to them. Spencer wondered if kissing Dallon would have elected the same lack of response. Dallon was significantly older than both of their boyfriends, and while it wasn't an issue in the relationship, there were a lot of shitty, judgemental people out there who would say otherwise. Spencer didn't want his relationship with Dallon and Brendon to be a big deal. He just wanted to date the two people he liked and occasionally kiss them in a grocery store, just like any other monogamous straight couple. 

 

“It looks ripe, though, so I think we're good,” Dallon said after a moment. Brendon nodded and grabbed a produce bag, placing the tomato in the bottom and twisting the plastic around. He handed it to Spencer, because Spencer was apparently in charge of this process, and the three of them headed towards the check out. Spencer grabbed a bag of Doritos (on sale) on the way up to the front, and Dallon and Brendon both ended up with their preferred drinks. Brendon also had a jumbo bag of gummi worms. Spencer wasn't sure where he'd gotten them from, because they hadn't gone down the candy aisle at all. 

 

The ten items or less line was lit up, so Spencer walked up to it. There was a guy about his age on the other side of the cash register, and he looked familiar. His hair was long and pulled back into a company-sanctioned ponytail, and he had a resting bitch face that not even a customer service smile could save. Spencer knew he’d seen the guy somewhere, maybe in high school or around the Las Vegas area. 

 

Then Spencer’s eyes landed on the guy’s name tag.  _ Brent _ . The old bassist, before Rochelle got outed and before she and Spencer left for Chicago. He was looking at Spencer curiously as well, trying to place him. 

 

Spencer smiled. “Hey, Brent, how’d graduation go?”

 

Brent looked confused. “Do I know you?”

 

“Yeah, I’m Spencer?” Spencer said. He raised an eyebrow, acting like he was judging Brent for not remembering him. Of course, the Spencer Smith Brent remembered was a chubby, pre-t kid with a shitty bob. This Spencer had a flat chest without even trying, and didn’t sound like a teenage girl. He smiled. “Spencer Smith? We were in a band together in high school, but you quit because you didn’t like that Ry and I were gay.”

 

“Um, I don’t think I know you,” he said. He was staring at the computer screen instead of Spencer, though. 

 

“Really? Come on, man, there’s no hard feelings,” Spencer said. As if on cue, Dallon came up behind Spencer and looped their arm around his waist, kissing his hair. Brendon popped up on Spencer’s other side, putting his arm around Spencer’s shoulders. Spencer was biting back a huge grin. “Besides, the band you left? Ry and I are still in it, and we released an album back in September. We’ve been touring with Fall Out Boy ever since.”

 

Brent laughed. “No way. Fall Out Boy? They wouldn’t hang out with a bunch of fags like you.”

 

“Watch yourself,” Dallon said. The look on their face reminded Spencer of a night in late April, when Dallon was picking up Brendon’s ex and scaring the shit out of him. “We’re getting interviewed by  _ Rolling Stone _ in a few months. You wouldn’t want to go down in history as the bigoted asshole who dissed the drummer of Panic! at the Disco.”

 

Brent shook his head, but he was starting to look unnerved. “You're messing with me. Come on. Spencer and Ryan only disappeared like a year ago. There's no way they're famous or in a band. Everyone thought they died.”

 

“I'm still alive,” Spencer said. He wondered if the rumours of his and Rochelle's death had gotten back to his sisters, and if they'd done anything about them. “As is Ry. She's in Chicago, though. With her boyfriend, who's also in the band with us. We got signed by Pete Wentz; you can go buy the record if you want. It's pretty good.”

 

Brent still looked startled, but he shut up and went back to bagging Spencer's food. Spencer turned his head and kissed Brendon, watching Brent out of the corner of his eye. Panic! at the Disco was a queer band, whether people liked it or not. And they were a cool queer band; no one was trying to kick them out of the scene because of their sexuality. They were just as emo, just as pop punk, just as whatever fucking genre, as any other band. Spencer was pretty damn proud of being a part of that. 

 

* * *

 

**August 1, 2009; London, England.**

 

Spencer started moving in the next day, since that was when the next month of rent started and neither he nor Gwyn wanted to sit around figuring out what percentage Spencer would owe if he wasn't there for the whole month. Spencer didn't want to live out of a hotel forever, because while it was nice, he wanted his own space. It felt too much like touring. 

 

Gwyn's flat was on the third floor above a little Greek restaurant. There was no elevator, just three floors of narrow, winding stairs. It was hot, because Europe didn't believe in air conditioning, and Spencer was sweating by the time he had gotten all of his things up to his new room. He only had a handful of suitcases and his personal backpack, but it was the middle of the day and it was hot as shit. 

 

He and Gwyn were in the kitchen, above the bedrooms. Spencer was seated at the little table and Gwyn was pouring them both glasses of water. She set one down in front of Spencer and sat in the other chair, smirking at him from behind her own glass. “I thought you said you were from Las Vegas. Isn't it hot out there?”

 

“Yeah, but it's a dry heat,” Spencer said. He downed about half of his water. “And we had air conditioning there, so it was only hot outside.”

 

“London doesn't usually get hot,” Gwyn said. She frowned. “It's got to be global warming, or some bullshit. There's no reason for it to be this bloody hot any time of the year.”

 

Spencer couldn’t argue with that. He drank the rest of his water and leaned back in the chair. The flat was nice and modern, but it wasn’t air-conditioned, and Spencer was worried that he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. He was the kind of guy who liked to sleep under multiple blankets, hidden away amongst pillows. The hotel room had been okay because he was high enough up that he could keep the windows open and not have anything crawl into his window, but he didn’t think he could do that here. 

 

He tapped his knuckle against the glass. “How do you guys usually keep cool here?”

 

“Not having temperatures over 25 tends to help,” Gwyn said. “There’s a Tesco nearby, though, if you want to get a fan for your room. I’ve got one, and it helps, but it still gets hot at night.”

 

“Windows aren’t an option?”

 

“No, unfortunately it’s too loud and busy outside for that,” Gwyn said. She sighed, turning her head to look out the window behind her. It looked out into a bunch of back windows and a terrace for someone else’s apartment. The view on the front of the flat was better, considering it looked out onto the street instead of someone’s window. 

 

“Guess I’ll be heading to Tesco for a fan then,” Spencer said. He leaned over to grab his shoes from where he’d slipped them off earlier, and his hair fell into his face, covering his vision. Spencer pushed it back and put his shoes on. “And, while I’m out, do you know anywhere I can get a haircut? I need to chop this shit off.”

 

* * *

 

**January 1, 2006; Summerlin, Nevada.**

 

Spencer's family had all gone up to bed about an hour ago, leaving Spencer and his two partners downstairs with a bottle of champagne and the lull of early morning TV in the background. Spencer wasn't sure if it was his parents’ way of saying good luck with the sex, or if they were finally getting too old for New Year's celebrations and we're really going to bed. Whatever the reason, Spencer wasn't going to complain. 

 

He wasn't drunk, because there was only one bottle for the three of them and his parents had had a glass or two before leaving, but he was a little tipsy. It felt like being severely sleep deprived, when everything was hilarious and all of Spencer's thoughts were the best thing he'd ever come up with. 

 

Brendon had taken off his shirt the moment Spencer's family left the room. He was currently lying on his back, hips up in the air, and trying to remove his jeans. Admittedly, they were pretty tight. They made his ass look good, though. 

 

Brendon kicked his jeans off, followed by his socks, and then turned over onto his stomach to look up at Dallon and Spencer through his eyelashes. He fluttered them in a way that should have been sexy, but was really just hilarious. “Alright, I'm naked. You guys have to join me now.”

 

“You can't make me do anything,” Dallon said, raising their glass of champagne up to their lips and taking a faux dignified sip. As soon as they lowered it, Spencer leaned over and kissed Dallon, tasting the bittersweet liquid on their lips. Dallon was smiling against Spencer's mouth as their fingers ghosted down Spencer's arms. They cupped Spencer's jaw in their hand and pulled back slowly from the kiss to look at Spencer with one eyebrow raised. “Is that you trying to be persuasive?”

 

“Depends,” Spencer said, because he wanted to get naked with Brendon and Dallon, even if they were only on his parents’ floor. “Did it work?”

 

“Maybe,” Dallon shrugged. They set down their champagne and pulled their shirt up over their head. Spencer had seen Dallon shirtless before, in bits and pieces backstage and on the bus. Unlike Brendon, Dallon preferred to keep their clothes on as much as they could, and so their naked body was still a new thing for Spencer. 

 

Spencer didn't get a full second to take in Dallon’s naked torso before Brendon was up from the floor and straddling Dallon's waist. Spencer leaned up behind him, pressing his chest against Brendon's bare back. He could feel the warmth of Brendon's skin through his own shirt and leaned in to kiss down Brendon's neck. Brendon tipped his head back, letting out a soft mewling sound. 

 

Dallon’s hands came around to rest on Spencer’s hips, pulling him closer against Brendon. They turned their head so that they were facing Spencer and looked him up and down. “So are you going to join us, or did you just want to sit back and watch?”

 

“I’m pretty involved right now, aren’t I?” Spencer asked. He leaned back and started taking his shirt off anyway. It wasn’t a big deal. He tossed his shirt to the side, along with Dallon’s and Brendon’s, and ran his hand down his chest to make sure his binder was still in place. Nothing was there, though, and Spencer looked down at his chest only to remember that, yes, he had gotten top surgery four months ago, and yes, his chest was still flat without the help of a binder. Spencer’s torso looked just like any other cis guy.  _ He _ looked just like any other cis guy. He could go around shirtless if he wanted to, and no one would give him weird looks. He could swim shirtless, and not have to worry about his top coming up and making things awkward.

 

“I have to go do something, hold on,” Spencer said. He got off of Brendon and Dallon and started towards the back door of the house. 

 

“What the fuck? Where’re you going?” Brendon called from behind him. Spencer could hear Brendon’s bare feet against the carpet, with Dallon behind him. “Spencer?”

 

“I just realised I can go swimming shirtless,” Spencer said, flinging open the back door. His parents kept the pool full year round, because Vegas didn’t always get cold in the winter, and sometimes they liked to hold ironic Christmas barbeques. Spencer’s parents were weird, but Spencer wasn’t complaining about it this time. 

 

Outside, it was dark and chilly, and Spencer shivered, rubbing his arms as he crossed the backyard to the pool. The pool wasn’t very big, and Spencer’s sisters tended to invite their friends over and then kick Spencer out of the backyard. He and Ryan didn’t get to swim in it much, but they’d had the neighbourhood pool instead. It was bigger, there was usually a lemonade stand, and Spencer didn’t have to deal with his sisters and their pre-teen friends squealing every time they got splashed. 

 

“The water’s going to be cold,” Dallon said from the doorway. Spencer glanced over his shoulder to see them leaned against it, their tall frame silhouetted against the yellow lights inside. Brendon was in front of them, and Spencer could barely make out either of their expressions. 

 

Spencer shrugged. “It can’t be that bad.”

 

He could see the outlines of a grin spread out across Brendon’s face, and then Brendon was sprinting past Spencer, jumping up and into the pool in a perfect cannonball. Spencer turned around in time for Brendon to burst out of the water, screeching about how cold it was. Spencer laughed and pulled his jeans off before jumping in after his boyfriend. 

 

The water felt like gripping ice. Spencer wasn’t sure which part of his body to grab and try to protect from the startling cold, because everything was numb and being pulled off at the same time. He stood up, grabbing Brendon’s shoulder and trying to climb on him just so that it wouldn’t be so fucking freezing, but Brendon was still screaming, and he didn’t shut up even when Spencer pulled him down under the water. 

 

Dallon was, of course, dry and standing in the doorway, laughing at their boyfriends. Spencer stood up in the water again, still holding onto Brendon, and flipped Dallon off. He stuck his tongue out. “Come join us, you nerd.”

 

“I have a better idea,” Dallon said. They turned and walked back into the house, but they didn’t stop in the living room, instead exiting towards the stairs that led to the second floor. 

 

Spencer turned to Brendon. “Should we follow them?”

 

“It’s better than freezing out here,” Brendon said, swimming towards the stairs. “Why did you think this was a good idea again?”

 

“I never said it was a good idea. I said I could swim shirtless, and I wanted to do it. So I did. That’s what adulthood is all about; making stupid decisions and then living with them,” Spencer said, following Brendon out of the pool. He shivered as he walked back to the house, grabbing his jeans off the ground. He didn’t need to give his parents any blackmail material. 

 

Dallon was, unsurprisingly, in Spencer’s bed, and wearing nothing but their boxers. They had Spencer’s duvet draped haphazardly across their hips, but they weren’t trying to hide anything. Dallon looked up at Spencer and Brendon as the two younger men came in the room. Spencer closed and locked his bedroom door before he could forget to do so. Brendon pulled off his boxers before jumping onto the mattress beside Dallon, and Dallon pulled him down for a kiss while Spencer pulled off his own underwear and joined them both on the bed.

 

It was a little crowded, and Dallon almost kneed Brendon when they took their underwear off, but finally. They were all naked, and in a bed, and together. And there was no one on the other side of the door, waiting for the worst moment to start knocking and yelling about soundcheck or going on a food run. 

 

Spencer pushed Brendon down onto the mattress, grinding his hips against Brendon. He turned his head to kiss Dallon, and Dallon’s hand returned to Spencer’s hip. They were rubbing circles against Spencer’s hipbone, their thumb rough from calluses. Spencer reached out and rubbed one hand over Dallon’s nipple while turning his head to bite at Brendon’s shoulder. Brendon was moaning, his dick hard against Spencer’s hip, and Spencer wanted to fuck him. He wanted to fuck both of them, but he really wanted to fuck Brendon, because Brendon was whiny and responsive and Spencer still wanted to see if he could get Brendon to cum without touching his dick. 

 

Brendon’s eyes flew open. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and his already dark brown eyes were nearly black. He raised an eyebrow. “So are we fucking or what?”

 

“You don’t understand foreplay,” Dallon purred, and licked a stripe up the side of Brendon’s neck. They kissed at a fading hickey under his ear, and Brendon shivered under Spencer. It wasn’t from the cold. Spencer sat up and slid off the bed. He looked through his bags for the condoms that the three of them had been collecting on tour. They hadn’t been able to use them yet, but that was about to change. Spencer grabbed two, and the bottle of lube, and returned to the bed.

 

He sat back on his knees and popped the bottle open and closed. “How’re we going to do this?”

 

“Can Dallon fuck me?” Brendon asked. His eyes were flicking between Dallon and Spencer, like he was waiting on one of them to approve his request. 

 

Spencer looked over at Dallon, who nodded. Spencer nodded to Brendon. “Works for me.”

 

“I can eat you out after, if you’re willing to wait,” Dallon said, cocking an eyebrow. Spencer had no issue with that, especially since it meant he’d get to watch Dallon fuck Brendon. He’d thought about it before, even used it as jerk off material while they were on tour and in too crowded areas, but he’d never expected it to happen in real life. 

 

Spencer nodded. “I can wait.”

 

“Or…” Brendon said, opening the bottle of lube and coating his fingers before anyone could stop him. “I could ride Dallon, and Spence could sit on their face. Two birds, one stone.”

 

Spencer shook his head. He was fine with waiting. Brendon always got sleepy after he came anyway, and from the looks of it, he'd be the first one to cum tonight. Spencer leaned over and took some lube from Brendon, coating his own fingers. He presses the tip of his pointer finger against Brendon's hole, and then pushed inside. Brendon pushed back, before shoving his own finger in with Spencer's. Spencer had a feeling that Brendon had been fingering himself while they were all touring together. 

 

Dallon's hand was on Spencer's lower back, rubbing against his skin and scratching lightly. It felt good. Spencer turned his face to kiss Dallon, pulling at their lower lip with his teeth. Dallon let out a soft moan, and Spencer sat up so that he could unwrap the condom and slide it on Dallon's dick. Dallon was bigger than Brendon, and thicker too, and they were slick against Spencer's hand. Spencer imagined what it would feel like to blow them, and then thought about  _ Brendon  _ blowing Dallon while Spencer fucked him from behind.

 

Spencer moaned at the thought, grinding his hips against Brendon while squeezing at Dallon's dick. Dallon pressed their face against Spencer's shoulder, moaning into his skin. Brendon reached up, awkwardly tangling his fingers in the ends of Spencer's hair, and pulled him down for a heated kiss. Somehow, while making out with Brendon and fingering him with one hand, Spencer got the condom onto Dallon. He sat back, pulling his fingers out of Brendon and pressing the flat of his hand against his vagina so that he'd have at least something to tide himself over with while Dallon fucked Brendon. 

 

Spencer tugged at the ends of Dallon’s hair and kissed the side of their neck. “Go for it, babe.”

 

Dallon kissed Spencer's mouth. “Don't tell me what to do.”

 

They then turned back to Brendon, who was fucking himself on three fingers and arching up on the mattress. Dallon wrapped their hand around Brendon's wrist and pulled his fingers out, slowly. Brendon let out a high pitched whine, which Spencer muffled by pressing his lips to Brendon's. Spencer reached up and pressed his palm over Brendon's nipple before pulling his hand up and rubbing his thumb over the sensitive flesh. Brendon was moaning into Spencer's mouth, alternating between grabbing at Spencer and grabbing at Dallon. 

 

Spencer stopped kissing Brendon for a moment to see what Dallon was up to. Their head was between Brendon's legs, but from what Spencer could see, they weren't eating Brendon's ass. Just teasing him with their mouth, which was awesome. 

 

Spencer reached between his own legs, rubbing his clit as he made out with Brendon and played with his nipple. Brendon was moaning and squirming under Spencer, and it was fucking hot. He wanted Dallon to hurry up and fuck Brendon so that they could get Spencer off. It was a little selfish, but Spencer was young and horny and he was allowed to want his partner to eat him out. 

 

Spencer pulled away from Brendon's mouth to see if Dallon was done yet, but as soon as he did, Brendon let out the most ridiculous moan. It sounded like he was having an orgasm, except that he wasn't, and Brendon was apparently just loud in bed if he thought he could be. 

 

Without thinking, Spencer took his hand, the one he'd been touching himself with, and pressed it against Brendon’s mouth. Spencer stared down at Brendon, ignoring how his thighs were starting to shake. “Bren, suck. My parents are down the hall and I  _ really _ don't want them to know what we're doing right now.”

 

Dallon lifted their head up from Brendon's crotch. “I thought they already knew. Why else would they leave us alone?”

 

“I know that, but still. I don't want my family to hear me having sex. That's weird,” Spencer said. Dallon nodded, and sat up, pulling Brendon's hips closer. Brendon let go of Spencer's fingers to paw at his face, pulling him back down for a kiss. As they kissed, Spencer could feel Brendon rocking under him as Dallon fucked him. Brendon was moaning against Spencer's mouth again, hot and needy. Spencer stroked the side of Brendon's neck, gently scratching at the skin. 

 

Brendon gasped. “Oh, fuck, I'm gonna--”

 

His head jerked up, hitting Spencer in the nose, and he groaned as he came all over his and Dallon's stomachs. Spencer rubbed his forehead for a moment, watching Brendon come down from his orgasm. Eventually, Brendon opened his eyes and grinned tiredly at Spencer. “Sorry for smacking you in the face.”

 

Spencer kissed his forehead. “It's okay.”

 

He turned to Dallon, leaning back on his elbows and hoping he looked sexy instead of dumb. “I'll blow you if you blow me.”

 

“Sounds good,” Dallon said. They pulled off the condom and leaned away from their boyfriends to toss it in the trash. As they stretched out, Spencer imagined taking his fingernails and running them all the way down Dallon's smooth, pale back. He wondered if he'd leave marks, if Dallon's skin was as easily bruisable as Brendon's could be. 

 

Brendon placed a kiss on Spencer's hip. “You're staring.”

 

“I'm allowed to stare, shush,” Spencer hissed, ignoring how his face heated up when he said it. “Besides, I thought you liked the attention.”

 

“I do, but I'm not the one you're staring at.”

 

Dallon turned back around, and without much warning, they pressed their hands to Spencer's shoulders and gently shoved him down against the mattress. It was kind of hot, but it threw Spencer off-guard. He didn't see Dallon leaning in over him, and let out a sharp gasp when they started sucking at the base of his neck. Spencer reached up and tangled his hand in Dallon's hair, and Dallon bit down on Spencer's neck and  _ growled _ . Spencer pulled Dallon's head up and kissed them, thrusting his hips up against theirs. 

 

It was weird, having a hard dick pressed against him like this. Part of Spencer wished that it was his own dick rubbing against Dallon's, instead of the enlarged clit he'd been getting from the T. It felt good, regardless, but there was a strange taste in Spencer's mouth that he knew was a result of dysphoria. 

 

That changed when Dallon moved their head down to Spencer's crotch. They kissed his clit before running their tongue over it and pressing down. Spencer hummed his approval, and that was all it took. Dallon had a powerful tongue, and Spencer was already horny as fuck, so they didn't have to do much. Spencer grabbed onto Dallon's hair without thinking, and Dallon moaned against his clit, sending vibrations across the sensitive flesh. Spencer threw his head back, shoving his hips up towards Dallon’s face. He hadn’t let go of Dallon’s hair, but that only seemed to make them more enthusiastic about eating Spencer out. 

 

Spencer’s thighs were quivering, and Dallon’s tongue was hard and pointed as they pressed into Spencer. Spencer pressed the back of his hand against his mouth, moaning against it. His voice cracked in the middle of the moan, but he didn’t care. He was so close. He could feel everything, from Dallon’s breathing to the sheets under his back, and Brendon nosing at his shoulder like he wanted something. Spencer thrust his hips up again, tightening his grip on Dallon’s hair, and turned his head toward Brendon. Brendon leaned up and kissed Spencer. Spencer kissed back, holding Brendon’s chin with his other hand so their noses didn’t hit.

 

Dallon flicked their tongue across Spencer’s clit, and Spencer let out a small squeak before tensing up his thighs and coming. He bit down on Brendon’s lip, hard, and Brendon let out another loud moan. Spencer let go and dropped down onto the mattress, looking down his body at Dallon. “That was pretty awesome.”

 

Dallon wiped their mouth. “Thanks. It was my first time.”

 

“Dude, if you can eat Spencer out like that, you have to eat my ass,” Brendon said. He looked way too excited about the idea. Dallon just raised an eyebrow and gently pushed Spencer away from the wall so that they could lay down instead. 

 

Spencer brushed his hair back from his face and sat up, ignoring how his legs were shaking as he crawled down the bed to between Dallon’s thighs. Dallon had nice thighs. Pale, soft, fuzzy. Spencer ducked down and pressed his nose against the inside of their thigh, rubbing their mouth against the skin. He kissed the inside of Dallon’s thigh, biting down a little. Dallon whimpered, their legs falling farther apart, and Spencer glanced up to see that they had one hand loosely tangled in their hair and the other one splayed out across Brendon’s chest, slowly moving down his stomach. 

 

Spencer nibbled at Dallon’s thigh one more time, and then moved to their dick. They were hard, and leaking, and Spencer licked across the head first, just to see what Dallon tasted like. They let out a sharp gasp, curling their hand in on Brendon’s lower stomach. Brendon and Dallon both had Brendon’s cum on their stomachs, and Spencer considered licking it for a moment before realising that it would probably taste gross. Most of the fruit that Brendon ate came out of a CapriSun packet. He wouldn’t taste good. 

 

Spencer swiped his tongue around Dallon’s dick, slicking it up with his saliva before opening his mouth and taking in as much of Dallon as he thought he could. Dallon felt a lot thicker when their dick was in Spencer’s mouth, and he kept pressing his tongue to the underside of their dick so that he didn’t accidentally choke and start coughing. He bobbed down and swallowed, keeping an eye on Dallon to see their reaction. Mostly, they just looked like they were close to coming. 

 

Dallon had a hand around Brendon’s dick and their other on the side of Spencer’s face, rubbing his cheek as he sucked Dallon off. Brendon’s face was pressed against Dallon’s chest and his knee was up against Spencer’s side, and Spencer smiled a little around Dallon because  _ holy shit _ , this was actually happening. He was with his two partners, they were having sex together, and there was nothing waiting to interrupt them. 

 

Dallon moaned, and pushed Spencer’s face away from their dick. Spencer went willingly, but he ended up with cum on his face and chin, and it was warmer than he’d expected. He wiped it off, and Brendon came for a second time not long after. The three of them were sticky and messy, and Spencer had a vague sense of needing to go piss, because that was something Ryan had told him about. Something about pissing after sex to avoid STDs, but maybe that was just penetration sex. 

 

Spencer let out a sigh and started to crawl out from between his two partners anyway. “I have to go piss. I’ll be back.”

 

“Should we change out the sheets?” Dallon asked, sitting up on one elbow. 

 

Brendon snuggled up close to them. “Dal, Spencer’s mom does the laundry. Don’t give her cum stained sheets. That’s gross.”

 

“Put on some pants and take it down to the laundry room,” Spencer said. “I’d leave my shit in the washer overnight all the time, Ginger doesn’t mind.”

 

“Yeah, you did that in Chicago, too,” Brendon said. He looked over his shoulder at Spencer, grinning lazily. “It’s almost like you always forget you’re supposed to be doing laundry, and then someone else has to come in and touch your soggy underwear to do their own laundry.”

 

“You love my soggy underwear,” Spencer said sarcastically. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants from his dresser and put them on before heading out to the bathroom that he and his sisters shared. He was smiling to himself as he walked, though. He felt warm and fuzzy, and that was partially from the champagne, but mostly from the sex and from the entire night. Spencer felt good. He felt the same way he did after a really good show, except this time, he got to go back to a real bed, and not the backseat of the Brobecks van or some shady motel room. 

 

It was pretty awesome. 

 

* * *

 

**August 10, 2009; London, England.**

 

Spencer was in Hyde Park, running, with his iPod playing N-Sync so he didn’t have to think about anyone he’d left behind. He had an interview with a music store in two days, and he was hoping to get the job just so that he’d have an excuse to get out of the flat. Gwyn was a nice host, but Spencer was starting to get cabin fever. He didn’t like being in one place for too long, and the internet was dangerous. Spencer didn’t want to see anyone he knew online. 

 

Spencer was watching where he was going, because he wasn’t an idiot and it was three in the morning. Anyone in the park at this hour was likely someone Spencer didn’t want to hang out with. He paused  when he saw another moving figure. They were running, just like Spencer, but they seemed to have a better idea of what they were doing than he did. Spencer frowned and started up again, going faster than usual to get closer to the person. They didn’t look dangerous. Maybe Spencer wasn’t the only insomniac in London.

 

Up close, he could tell that they were a man, with shiny black hair and a defined jawline. The man noticed Spencer running beside him and slowed down a little, so that they were on pace with each other. He offered Spencer a warm smile, waving a little. Spencer smiled back, but kept his earbuds in. He wasn’t very good at running and talking. He preferred focusing on one task at a time. 

 

Spencer and the stranger ran together for another eight songs. The stranger slowed to a walk and motioned towards a nearby bench. Spencer paused his music and wound his earbuds around his iPod as he followed the stranger over. His heart was racing, but he’d been running for over an hour. He could feel the adrenaline settling in, and he knew he’d be fine if this guy tried anything. Spencer didn’t think he would, though. He was scrawnier than Spencer. 

 

The stranger pulled out a bottle of water from his tiny running backpack. He was in skin-tight running shorts and a form-fitting t-shirt, and even though he was skinny, he was really well toned. He tilted the unopened bottle towards Spencer. “Would you like some?”

 

“You didn’t poison it or anything, did you?” Spencer asked, half-joking. There were still some leftover bits of Chicago still in him. 

 

The man raised an eyebrow. “Of course not. You’re American, right?”

 

“Yeah, I moved here a few weeks ago. I like it so far, but I don’t think I’ve adjusted to the new timezone yet,” Spencer said. He took a sip from the water and handed it back before shaking the guy’s head. “I’m Spencer, by the way. Do you run here often?”

 

“I’m Gavin, and yes,” he said. He drank from the water himself, tilting his head back to expose his neck. Spencer narrowed his eyes. He didn’t want to be assume, but for some reason he felt like Gavin was showing off. In a gay way. Gavin pulled the bottle from his lips with a sigh and ran his tongue over his lips. “I work nights at the hospital, which is great, being single and all, but I’ve turned nocturnal over the years, so I come here on my nights off. It’s not half bad at night, once you get used to the locals.”

 

“You mean the homeless guys?” Spencer asked. He’d seen a few, over the past few sleepless nights he’d gone running around in Hyde Park. They hadn’t bothered him, too busy sleeping on a bench or in the grass. 

 

“I prefer to call them the locals,” Gavin said, smiling. “Makes it feel more like a home, and not a giant field of trees and shit.”

 

“This kind of is their home, isn’t it?” Spencer said, looking out into the darkened park. He knew what home was, of course. He’d grown up in the same house for most of his life. He had a family who loved him, and made a stone building in front of a park in Las Vegas feel like home. Spencer was a wanderer, though, and he’d never associated his home with the building he slept in. It was always the people he was around, regardless of where they were or where they were living. 

 

Spencer didn’t feel like he was living in London. He didn’t have a home, not yet. He was still scattered in different directions, in Summerlin, in Chicago, and in a fancy hotel room in Cape Town overlooking a glittery, lit up wedding reception. 

 

Gavin was frowning. “You alright? You look a little down…”

 

“Sorry, I’ve been dealing with a lot recently,” Spencer said. He laughed, because he didn’t know what else to do and he wasn’t about to share his whole life story with a stranger he met in a park. “I’m in the middle of starting my life over. It’s an adjustment.”

 

“I can imagine,” Gavin said. He clapped Spencer on the back. “Well, if you’re ever running around at night again, don’t be afraid to say hello. I’m always interested in meeting new people.”

 

* * *

 

**January 17, 2006; Las Vegas, Nevada.**

 

Spencer was drinking coffee and trying not to burn his tongue. Dallon and Brendon were sitting across from him, and Rochelle was beside him. She had her feet in his lap and was leaned against Jon, who was in the other seat and was on his laptop. He and Ry were flipping through the Walker Christmas photos, deciding which ones they wanted to keep and which ones to send back to Jon’s parents and family. 

 

They still had an hour before they could board the plane. Spencer was bored, because he was an idiot and had packed his laptop charger in his suitcase, so he had no battery power left to entertain himself with. Brendon wasn’t supposed to talk because he needed to conserve his voice for the shows they’d be playing in Europe. 

 

Spencer tapped his foot against the floor, balancing it by drumming his fingers against Rochelle’s ankle. She let it happen for a bit, but then kicked Spencer gently in the stomach and gave him a look. Spencer gave her one back. “I’m bored, what do you want me to do?”

 

“Take a nap,” she said. 

 

Spencer held up his coffee in response. Jon shook his head, hiding his bemused grin in Rochelle’s hair. Sometimes Spencer wished he could be like Jon, and not get bothered by anything. Jon never got tired of singing along to 80’s music in the Brobecks van, or having the shittiest warm-up space because they were the youngest band. He wasn’t phased when Fall Out Boy jumped them at their last 2005 show, stripping Brendon and Jon both and spraying them with confetti and Pete’s weird Hot Topic cologne. Jon just accepted it and tossed confetti back at the guys. 

 

Spencer wondered if there was anything in the world that could catch Jon Walker off guard. He was a little afraid to find out. 

 

Rochelle’s phone buzzed in her pocket, startling Spencer out of his thoughts. She turned sideways across the three chairs, pulling her sidekick out of the back pocket of her jeans. Her eyes widened. “It’s my dad.”

 

“Holy shit,” Jon whispered, at the same time that Spencer said, “answer it?” even though he wasn’t sure that was a good idea. Rochelle had left her dad behind for a reason. Spencer didn’t want to be the reason she got back into a shitty family situation. 

 

Rochelle pressed the answer button and put the phone to her ear. “Hello? Dad? ...yeah. It’s me, um. I go by--okay, you heard about that… um. Why are you calling me?”

 

There was a long moment of silence, where Jon and Spencer were watching each other and each of them were silently trying to communicate with the other about what was going on on the other end of Rochelle’s phone call. Rochelle frowned, and sat up in her chair, digging her heels into Spencer’s thigh. “You’re what? Wait, no, say that again--what the  _ hell _ \--” her eyes flicked up to the screen with the flight schedules on it, “I have… I have to go. I don’t know. I’ll… I’ll call you back when I’m in London. I have to go.”

 

She pressed the end button and dropped her phone into her lap before pressing both of her hands to her face. Her shoulders were tense, and she wasn’t saying anything. She was just breathing, deep, controlled breaths. Spencer started to reach out towards her, but kept his hand hovering over her knee because he didn’t know if she was okay with being touched. 

 

Jon reached out and gently put a hand on her shoulder. She seemed to melt under his touch. “Ry, what’d he say?”

 

Rochelle parted her fingers so that Spencer could see her eyes. They looked darker and bigger, hidden in the shadows. She reached around behind herself and took one of Jon’s hands, curling her fingers around it and holding on tightly. “He, um. He’s sick.”

 

Spencer frowned. “Sick how?”

 

“His kidneys are failing, apparently,” Rochelle said. Her lower lip was quivering, slightly. Spencer noticed that she was sitting so that Jon couldn’t see her face, and she’d let her hair act as a curtain between her and Dallon and Brendon on the other side of the aisle. Spencer was the only one who could see her trying not to cry. Spencer wasn’t sure if it was an act of trust, or if it was because Rochelle and Spencer had known each other for too long for them to be able to hide anything from each other. 

 

Rochelle pressed her hand against her face again. “And, um, the doctors said he needs a transplant, or he isn’t going to live very long. I don’t want to cancel the tour. I can’t cancel the tour.”

 

“You’re not donating your kidney to your dad, are you?” Spencer asked. He had a horrible feeling that Rochelle would try something like that. She could be strangely selfish, sometimes. It was always when Spencer least expected it, and it always threw him off guard. 

 

She shook her head. “No, not unless I’m the only one who can. He and I still have issues, Spence. He wanted to try and talk shit out, but I can’t--”

 

“You don’t have to,” Jon said. “If you’re not ready to talk things out with your dad, then don’t. And before you say anything, it’s understandable if you feel guilty about any of this, but it’s not your fault that your dad’s sick, or that he waited until now to try and fix things. This is your life, Ry. Live it how you want to.”

 

“I don’t know what I want to do,” she said. She was curled in towards Jon, but it wasn’t obvious to anyone but him and Spencer. Rochelle was unfortunately good at hiding her fear. “I want to play music, I don’t want to deal with my dad dying.”

 

Jon wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Spencer pulled one legs up to knock his knee against hers. Spencer wanted to be able to fix Rochelle’s issues, but the truth was that he couldn’t. Rochelle was nineteen years old. In the eyes of the law and most every other well-meaning adult, she was on her own. It sucked, and Spencer would do everything he could to make this shit painless, but it was Rochelle’s choice, in the end. Either she called her dad back or she didn’t. Either she tried to repair the relationship or she didn’t. 

 

Spencer didn’t think her dad deserved it. He was a dick, he hit Ry, and he made her feel like she had to run away if she ever wanted to become something. His opinion wasn’t important, though, because he didn’t control Ryan. 

 

He pulled his leg up so that he could bump his leg up against hers. “You don’t have to deal with it right now. And we’ll support you, whatever you do.”

 

* * *

 

**August 13, 2009; London, England.**

 

Spencer booted his laptop up, setting it out on the coffee table so that Gwyn could see as well. They were lounging in the living room after Spencer’s first day of working at the music store, and Spencer was about to Skype Linda. Linda and Gwyn wanted to meet, somehow, and Spencer figured that Skype was the best way for the two of them to do it. 

 

Finally, his laptop lit up, and Spencer logged in, turning his screen slightly away from Gwyn so that she couldn’t see his password. He opened up Skype and turned it back towards her while they sat there waiting for Linda to pick up. She’d said that she would be available after four, and it was almost ten PM in London. 

 

Linda’s pixilated face appeared on the screen. She had her hair up in a mess of a bun, and was still wearing her burgundy glasses. She pushed them up onto her forehead and said, “hey, Spence. I’m guessing that’s Gwyn?”

 

“Yep, in the flesh,” Gwyn said, waving at the camera. “You look busy; did we get you at a bad time?”

 

“I’m going to be teaching a class this semester, so I’ve been running around, trying to bullshit my way through a syllabus,” Linda said. She rolled her eyes. “It’s my last semester here, too, before I graduate. I’m going to be doing enough as it is, trying to fit everything in.”

 

“You could always take another semester,” Spencer said. Even through the shitty connection, Linda’s glare was sharp enough to cut Spencer’s beard right off. Spencer raised his hands up. “Or not. If you want to avoid graduation hell in the spring, I totally get that. I just don’t want you dying of stress.”

 

“Finally, you’re starting to understand,” Linda said sarcastically. Gwyn laughed. If Gwyn didn’t already have a girlfriend, she and Linda would be good together. Gwyn was a vegan without being a dick about it, and she was very into environmental stuff that Spencer knew fuck all about. It wasn’t enough to declare them soulmates and start planning a wedding or any shit like that, but it meant they’d have similar opinions and they wouldn’t be at each other’s throats.

 

“So, other than teaching, what else do you get up to?” Gwyn asked. She pulled her legs up onto the couch, tucking them under herself. 

 

“A lot of stuff. Volunteered for Planned Parenthood, made some money doing modelling because I needed to pay for rent, almost adopted a dog,” Linda said. Even though she looked exhausted, she was still smiling. Spencer missed her. He missed being in the same country as his family and the few friends he had left after the split, but he’d committed himself to living in London, and he wasn’t going to back out now. 

 

“Wow,” Spencer said. “You really make my life sound boring. I just got a job at a music store, and Gwyn’s taking me out to celebrate because we’re both boring people with nothing better to do.”

 

“At least you’re celebrating,” Linda said. “I’m going to be pulling yet another all-nighter, probably, because on top of all the school shit I have to do, my boss wants me to look over a bunch of paperwork that’s all legal jargon.”

 

“You’re the one who wanted a job in public policy,” Spencer said. 

 

Linda sighed. “I should have gone pre-law. This would be so much easier if I went pre-law.”

 

“I know a guy who’s in law school, if you’re having a lot of issues,” Gwyn said. She raised her hand, too, like they were all still in school and she was waiting on her turn to talk. She put her hand down, tucking it between her thigh and her calf, and said, “he’s up in Manchester, but I can connect you two, see if it’ll do anything.”

 

“Seriously? That’s awesome,” Linda said, breaking into a relieved grin. She looked over at Spencer on the camera. “Spence, you pick the best roommates.”

 

Spencer shrugged. “It’s a talent of mine.”

 

The three of them continued talking for a bit longer before Gwyn had to leave to go call up her girlfriend and her other friends to make sure they all knew which bar they were going to. Spencer stayed up in the living room with Linda, because he didn’t get to talk to her that often. Even when he’d been in the band, it had been hard, because their schedules were just so different. 

 

“Does she know about you?” Linda asked after a minute.

 

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Which part of me? There’s a lot I don’t bring up in an ice-breaker.”

 

“Any of it, but I was talking about the band,” Linda said. She frowned. “I know you’re not keeping up with it, but I am, and it’s not looking good for the four of them. I think Panic! is over, Spence, whether you come back or not.”

 

“Gwyn doesn’t know about that. And Panic! has been over, ever since Cape Town,” Spencer said. He didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to pretend that the last few weeks of Panic! at the Disco had never happened and that he’d decided to go to London and reevaluate his life on his own free will, instead of out of fear and anger. Spencer sighed and leaned back on the couch. “I’m not coming back. I mean, I’ll probably take a few days off to fly to Chicago for your graduation, or if you want me to help you move out to LA or wherever you’re going in the spring. I’m not coming back to the states, though.”

 

Linda frowned. “You don’t have to exile yourself, you know.”

 

“It’s easier this way,” Spencer said. “For me.”

 

* * *

 

**January 18, 2006; London, England.**

 

Spencer was leaning heavily against Dallon. Brendon was laughing, because he was Brendon and he always had energy. He’d also been able to sleep on the plane, which was something Spencer had failed to do. Spencer didn't think that jet lag would be that bad, because he’d pulled hundreds of all-nighters before while touring with Fall Out Boy and getting through high school. He’d been wrong, and now he was overheating, fighting a migraine, and generally feeling like shit. 

 

He wanted to take a nap, but they wouldn’t be anywhere with a horizontal surface for a few more hours. They hadn’t even gotten to customs yet, because the London airport fucking sucked at making sense. 

 

Dallon looked tired, too, but they’d been turning back and forth in their seat on the plane and moving their legs around a lot. Spencer decided that Dallon was too tall for planes, and that once Panic! got famous enough, he’d buy them a private jet so that Dallon never had to feel cramped and uncomfortable on a plane again. Spencer had no idea how much a private jet cost, because he’d never thought about it before, but he figured that eventually the band would have enough money for one. He’d seen how Fall Out Boy was doing after only a few records; Panic! was just as good as them, and they had the advantage of being younger and not having as many responsibilities.

 

“I’m gonna get coffee once we’re through,” Brendon said. “I want to know what British coffee tastes like.”

 

“Probably exactly like American coffee does,” Dallon said. Spencer could feel their back vibrating when they spoke. He pressed his hand against the space between their shoulder blades, too tired to be thinking about what he was doing. “And you don’t need coffee. You’re energetic enough, Mr. I can sleep on a fucking plane like it’s Spencer’s mattress in Vegas.”

 

“I do have a nice mattress,” Spencer muttered. 

 

Dallon reached over their shoulder and tapped their fingers on Spencer’s head. Spencer supposed it was supposed to be a head pat. He appreciated their effort. Dallon squeezed Spencer’s shoulder as well, and then turned and grabbed Brendon before he could go investigate a gate that had been blocked off. “Spence, I love you, but you should probably refrain from talking until you sleep. Brendon, I love you, but please don’t get arrested in a foreign country.”

 

“I’ve never been to England before,” Brendon said. “Let me be excited.”

 

“Be legally excited.”

 

“Dallon, you’re acting like a parent. Like a dad,” Spencer said. He closed his eyes, still pressing his head against Dallon’s back as a way to guide himself. A thought crossed his mind, and in his delirious state, he started giggling. “You’re our daddy.”

 

“What part of don’t talk until you’ve slept did you not understand,” Dallon said drily. Spencer couldn’t see their face, but he could imagine the facepalming. Spencer started laughing harder. There were probably people staring at him, because he looked like a ridiculous, jetlagged American, but he was too tired to care. He was in London, he needed a nap, and he was going to be on stage in about eight hours. Nothing fucking mattered. 

 

“Wait, you’re into that?” Brendon asked. Spencer turned his head, and saw that Brendon was looking at him with curiousity. Brendon pushed a hand up through his hair, making it stick up like he’d been electrocuted. “Like, daddy doms and all that?”

 

“I’d say something about making both of you be quiet, but I’m afraid of how you’d respond,” Dallon said. Spencer imagined a second facepalm. It seemed appropriate. They shook their head. “No discussing fetishes before noon. That’s a new rule now.”

 

“Buzzkill,” Spencer said, and then to Brendon, “and no, I’m not into that. I have no interest in actually calling Dallon daddy. That’d be weird.”

 

* * *

 

**August 13, 2009; London, England.**

 

There were rainbow flags draped all over the walls, and the club was dark and loud as Spencer trailed in with Gwyn and her friends. She’d introduced him to them before they headed out, but none of their names stuck with him. Still, Spencer let one of the girls drag him out onto the dancefloor to jam to a Kesha song Spencer had heard on the radio in America a few months ago. It was a catchy song, and the girl he was dancing with was energetic, her loose violet curls bouncing as she danced around. 

 

Gwyn and her girlfriend--Liz--joined the two of them a song and a half later, carrying martinis over their head and laughing loudly. Gwyn handed one over to Spencer. “Drink up, love! This is for you!”

 

“What flavour?” Spencer asked over the music. 

 

“Manly!” Liz screamed, and then she and the purple haired girl dissolved into more laughter. Spencer rolled his eyes and took the drink from Gwyn. It tasted like strawberries and vodka. Spencer didn’t consider that  _ manly _ , but he wasn’t much of a manly person anyway. He’d only had beer and a few forgotten coctails before, so he didn’t know jackshit about drinks either. He just knew that this tasted good and he didn’t mind drinking it. 

 

Besides, it was free. Who cared what it tasted like?

 

Liz bumped Spencer’s hip. “So, Gwyn says you’re bi too? Looking for anything in particular tonight? Girls? Boys? Both?”

 

Spencer’s face heated up, and he laughed, shaking his head. “Neither, really. I just had a break-up, and I’m not in a dating mood yet.”

 

“It’s not dating, it’s just fucking!” Purple said. She slung an arm around Spencer’s shoulders, jumping up to do so. “Come on, there are plenty of fish in the sea! You don’t have to fall in love to have fun with someone!”

 

“Look, I appreciate it, but I’m really not--” Spencer’s words got stuck in his throat as he noticed who was coming through the doors. He was taller than Spencer rememered, and he’d bleached the longer parts of his hair. He was also wearing square sunglasses that hid his face from view, but Spencer didn’t need to see his eyes to know who he was looking at. He’d seen that jawline enough, and had memorised the way his fingers moved along the strings of a bass long before he realised he was a guy. 

 

There, dressed in a loose tank top and jeans skinnier than Rochelle, was none other than Mikey Way of My Chemical Romance, strutting into a gay club like it was his and Gerard’s own basement. Mikey Way lowered his sunglasses just enough that Spencer could see that Mikey was staring right at him, and Spencer looked away immediately. 

 

Gwyn gave Spencer a look. “See someone you like?”

 

“No,” Spencer said, because he wasn’t about to go flirt with _Mikey fucking Way_. “Just thought I recognised someone. Probably just a secret twin.”

 

* * *

 

**January 18, 2006; Leeds, England.**

 

It was five minutes until they went on stage. Rochelle still hadn’t called her dad, even though she’d definitely had the time between when they got to the hotel and when they had to show up for soundcheck. Spencer wasn’t judging her. Rochelle had enough pre-show nerves without her dad being involved.

 

She and Spencer were sitting off on the side of the stage, fully dressed and watching the crowd. They were the opening band, again, just like with Fall Out Boy. This band wasn’t as intimidating as Fall Out Boy, and their fans didn’t seem as judgemental. There were a lot of Fall Out Boy fans who didn’t like Panic! at the Disco, solely because Pete had chosen Panic! over any other band to sign first. 

 

Spencer saw it as jealousy, but it hadn’t made the tour any less depressing. It was sad, going out and knowing that most people were there for the other band. After the first few months, though, there’d been more Panic! fans at the shows, and more people who would actually come talk to Spencer and his bandmates and not ask them if they were also at the show to see Fall Out Boy. 

 

“I haven’t called him,” Rochelle said over the sound of people talking. She turned her head towards Spencer, flicking her fringe out of her face. “Does that make me a bad person?”

 

“Nope, it just makes you practical,” Spencer said. Rochelle gave him a weird look. Spencer stretched his legs out in front of himself, kicking his feet together. “You wouldn’t want to get worked up before a show. Or unbalanced, or whatever calling your dad back would do. It’s a smart decision, Ry. You’re not a shitty person for being smart.”

 

“Do you think I should call him?” she asked. Spencer looked away from the crowd for a moment to look at her. Every bone in Spencer’s body wanted Rochelle to tell her dad to go fuck himself, and that if he’d wanted to be a good parent, he should have started before he was dying and before his daughter was a rising star in the music industry. 

 

Spencer didn’t say that. “I think you should call him back eventually. You don’t have to make up with him, Ry, not if you don’t want to. He wasn’t the best parent.”

 

“Yeah, but he’s still my dad,” Rochelle said. For a moment, she and Spencer were kids again, watching a shitty Blockbuster movie on the TV in the Smith’s basement, and Rochelle was telling Spencer that sometimes she thought her dad didn’t love her. That was nearly ten years ago. Spencer wasn’t sure if anything had changed, other than their height and the length of their hair. They were still the same kids, just in bigger bodies and with bigger expectations, and Rochelle’s dad still felt like a monster under Spencer’s bed.

 

He swallowed. “Yeah, I guess he is.”

 

Rochelle kicked the toe of her shoe against Spencer’s. “It’s hard, having shitty parents. It was easy when I was a kid, because I thought I’d turn eighteen and then they wouldn’t exist any more because I’d be an adult and out of their reach, but it’s not like that.”

 

She leaned back so that her head was resting against the wall and her flat-ironed hair was falling off of her shoulders. “I shouldn’t have written any songs about him. What if he turns out to not be a dick and, like, survives all of this and then he has to hear Brendon singing about the worst part of his life for the rest of his life? Why can’t I just hide shit in metaphors like Pete, and then no one knows what I’m talking about ever but it still sounds good?”

 

“Because you’re not Pete Wentz, and you don’t have to be,” Spencer said. “And if your dad really does want to make up with you, then maybe he should listen to those songs. Maybe then he’ll understand how much he hurt you.”

 

“I’m gonna call him when we get back to the hotel,” Rochelle said. She looked out past Spencer, at the people waiting for the show to start--any minute now--and that was the end of the conversation. Spencer wasn’t going to push Rochelle to keep talking if she didn’t want to. Rochelle was brilliant, but her mouth didn’t always understand the point she was trying to make, and sometimes she needed a pen and paper. Sometimes she didn’t even feel up to that, but she could still get her thoughts across to Spencer because they knew each other that well. 

 

Jon and Dallon showed up, saying it was time to go on, and so Spencer stood up and headed to the curtain. Brendon was at the one closer to the stage, mumbling lyrics under his breath. Dallon came up behind Brendon and tilted his chin up, kissing him softly. They turned to Spencer and blew him a kiss. Spencer winked and blew one back. 

 

The lights were bright. Brendon was dramatic. Somehow, there was glitter in Dallon’s and Jon’s hair. Ryan was smaller than usual on stage, keeping to herself and focusing on her part. Spencer kept an eye on her, in case she did anything to signal that she needed to get out. 

 

Brendon slinked across the stage, bullshitting lines about being in a soft dream with a lover. He glided toward Dallon, who was watching his every step. Brendon stepped up to Dallon, pulling them down to his level, so close that Dallon could touch the other side of the microphone with their lips if they desired. Brendon’s hand trailed down Dallon’s chest. “But this is not that dream, and this is not that song. This song… is about fucking!”

 

And he swooped in and kissed Dallon on the mouth, in front of maybe a thousand people. Spencer was so surprised that he almost missed the intro to Lying, which was what was next in the setlist but wasn’t preceded by a monologue. 

 

He managed to get back into it, though, and when he looked up again, Rochelle was looking up at him and laughing. So she’d noticed. Great. Spencer quickly stuck his tongue out and then continued drumming because that was his job and it was a pretty good distraction. Rochelle was wiggling her eyebrows at him. At one point in the song, she did a complete 180 so that her back was to the audience and put her fingers in a V over her mouth. Spencer drummed harder. 

 

People cheered at the end of the set, which was awesome. It was even more awesome when Jon ran up behind Spencer’s drums and dragged him down to the front of the stage for them to all bow. There were some whistles, which was fucking hilarious because they were all sweaty and dressed in thrift store Victorian clothing. Spencer winked and finger-gunned at the people and then turned to Dallon and kissed them on the cheek. He was running on post-show adrenaline, and it felt great. 

 

Jon knew the guys in the band they were touring with (The Academy Is…) because Jon knew everyone in the alt rock/emo scene. If Jon personally knew anyone from Green Day or My Chem, Spencer would go out of his way to become Jon’s new best friend. It wouldn’t only be for band connections, because Spencer wasn’t that much of an ass, but that’d be a kickass bonus. 

 

“Quick rule of thumb before anyone fucking dies!” Jon yelled. It was after The Academy Is… had finished, and both bands were crowded in their tour bus to go out to some pub-club thing that TAI… was aware of. Jon was standing on the sofa in the bus, holding onto the ceiling so that he didn’t fall over and land in William Beckett’s lap. “No one in my band takes anything given to them by Carden. I don’t know who cursed that guy, but anything he touches turns to absinthe and I am  _ not _ dealing with any of you fuckers puking on me.”

 

Brendon elbowed Spencer and whispered, “what’s absinthe?”

 

“Really strong alcohol,” Spencer said, because he’d remembered Rochelle writing a song about it a few years ago when she thought she was madly in love with a girl named Abby. “Like, so strong it’s illegal in America. I think.”

 

“Holy shit,” Brendon whispered, looking over at Carden in awe. Spencer had a horrible feeling that he’d be dealing with a drunk Brendon tonight. At least he had Dallon as well, and at least Rochelle had lost her phobia of being around anyone who was under the influence.

 

Spencer rolled his eyes. “No.”

 

“Yes,” Brendon grinned, and wiggled his eyebrows. 

 

Spencer let out a sigh. “Have fun with your hangover, then.”

 

* * *

 

**August 18, 2009; London, England.**

 

Spencer was back in Hyde Park again. He couldn’t stop thinking about Mikey Way, and wondering what the guy was doing in a gay bar in London. The obvious answer was that he was gay, but Spencer knew he was married. Maybe he was bi, and cheating on his wife. That didn’t make the situation any better. It just made more sense.

 

Spencer turned up the volume on his iPod and skipped over  _ House of Wolves _ . He wasn’t in the mood for My Chem. It was weird to listen to them now. He felt like he’d walked in on a part of their lives that he wasn’t supposed to know about.

 

He was so caught up in his thoughts and trying to drown them out with music that he didn’t realise someone was tapping his shoulder until they pulled his shouler back. Spencer stumbled and turned around, ready to fight back if he needed to. He relaxed when he realised it was Gavin, and paused his music. Spencer ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. “Sorry, I was thinking too loudly.”

 

“No problem,” Gavin said. He didn’t step away from Spencer. “Would you like to run with me, or would you prefer to be alone with your thoughts.”

 

“I’d prefer anything other than that, actually. I’ve had a weird couple of days,” Spencer said. He pulled his earbuds out and wrapped them around his iPod before putting the whole thing in his pocket. He took a deep breath, and then he and Gavin started off jogging again. “So, what’ve you been up to since we last talked?”

 

“Well, I had a patient piss himself,” Gavin said. “It happens more than you think, in a hospital, but the smell still gets to me. Blood, burned flesh, and vomit? I can handle all of those. I can even handle the smell of someone shitting, but for whatever reason, piss makes me gag.”

 

“That’s not at all what I was expecting from a guy who worked in a hospital,” Spencer said. His mom had been a nurse when Spencer was really young, back when they lived in Denver, and he could vaguely remember her talking about how hectic it was. She never mentioned smells. 

 

“Oh, Christ, sorry, that’s probably not what you want to hear while running. Or any time, really,” Gavin said. His hair was flopping in front of his eyes, but he made no move to push it back. 

 

Spencer waved his hand. “It’s fine. My mom was a nurse when I was a kid.”

 

“Oh really? Do you remember what units she’d work in?” Gavin asked, perking back up. Spencer remembered some of it, and after that, it was easy to fall into conversation with the guy. Spencer had to censor himself, because he didn’t want Gavin to realise who he’d been, but most of his childhood stories were easy to re-tell. 

 

“I wasn’t the most popular student in my year, but I never had to deal with bullies,” Gavin said. “I did get in a fight, once, but that was because some guy thought I was flirting with his girlfriend. I wasn’t doing it then, and to this day I haven’t the slightest idea how to flirt with a woman.”

 

“My best friend flirted with so many girls that I had only guy friends because every girl in my grade either hated me, or hated Rochelle,” Spencer said. Rochelle had been frustrating in high school for that reason. Spencer never had a chance with anyone, because Rochelle was the taller, older, skinnier one, and she knew how to get into all the good shows and under eighteen clubs downtown. 

 

“Your friend was a lesbian, then?”

 

Spencer nearly tripped. “Uh, bisexual, actually. But yeah.”

 

Gavin waved his hand dismissively. “Same thing. Not that it matters. I’m gay myself, but I promise you, if you’ve got an issue with that, I’ve been doing martial arts since I was four, and I am not against using them in situations of self-defense.”

 

“Man, you should have been my knight of armour in high school,” Spencer said. “No one would have messed with us then.”

 

“So it’s not a problem, then? That I like men?”

 

“Nope,” Spencer said. “It’d be pretty hypocritical of me if I was cool with girls who liked girls and not guys who liked guys.”

 

“There are a surprising amount of hypocrites in the world,” Gavin said. He smiled, tilting his head down and not hiding that he was checking Spencer out as they ran. Spencer let him. He wasn’t interested in anything, but it was still pretty awesome to have a hot guy looking at him as though  _ Spencer _ were the hot guy. He’d take what he could get. 

 

By the time they’d gotten back around to where they’d began, the sun was starting to peek up from the horizon. Gavin wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and looked Spencer over again. “Would you like to grab breakfast? I’ll pay for yours, if that’s incentive.”

 

Spencer shook his head. “I’m good. Thanks, though, but I need to get back, shower, and sleep. I’ve got work later today, and I don’t want to go in without any sleep. Maybe next time?”

 

“Maybe next time,” Gavin said, smiling warmly. Spencer grinned back. That was an offer he wouldn’t have to back out of. 

 

* * *

 

**January 19, 2006; Leeds, England.**

 

Spencer felt a little like death, but he was warm and the person he was spooned against smelled like shampoo so it was okay. He wrapped his arms around them and closed his eyes again, because it was dark in the hotel room and Spencer didn’t feel like waking up yet. 

 

“Brendon’s throwing up in the bathroom,” Dallon’s voice croaked from in front of him. “In case you were wondering why you were suddenly awake at five in the morning.”

 

“Why is he throwing up in the bathroom?” Spencer said. He wanted to go back to sleep. He didn’t want Brendon to be sick in the bathroom, or to have a headache of his own. 

 

“Neither of you listen to Jon Walker,” Dallon said. They rolled over, so that they were facing Spencer. Their hair was wet when Spencer reached up to run his fingers through it, and Spencer wondered why Dallon had taken a shower in the middle of the night. Dallon ran their fingers across Spencer’s side. “I did listen to him, and now I’m comfortably in bed with my boyfriend, not hungover, and not getting sick from drinking.”

 

“Are you judging Brendon?” Spencer asked. He wanted to faceplant into Dallon’s chest and stop existing. 

 

“No, I’m stating facts,” Dallon said. “You guys are young, you’re allowed to go out and party all night with the cool kids.”

 

“You’re the same age as the cool kids,” Spencer added. 

 

Dallon laugh-snorted. “Yeah. I also got all the wild partying out of my system in college. I’m basically an old married woman now, I’m so boring.”

 

“You’re not boring,” Spencer said. He leaned forward and kissed the first bit of Dallon’s skin that he could reach. Dallon ran their hand through Spencer’s hair, gently. Spencer closed his eyes, settling his head down on Dallon’s arm. He sighed. “You’re the opposite of boring.”

 

“Interesting?” 

 

“I feel like death,” Brendon said. Spencer heard the bathroom door close behind him, and then felt the mattress move under Brendon as he crawled up the bend to join Spencer and Dallon. He crawled up in between them, pushing Spencer back. Spencer rolled his eyes, which made his head hurt worse, and then looped his arm around Brendon’s waist instead of Dallon’s. Brendon turned over so that he was facing Spencer and bumped their knees together. “You should sleep naked. It's better that way.”

 

“I like my pajamas, so no,” Spencer said. He'd never slept naked before, and he didn't know if he wanted to. It didn't matter that he had a flat chest and was rooming with the two people who had already seen him naked. Spencer was still nervous about being exposed. He didn't think that would ever go away. 

 

Dallon reached over and pet Brendon on the head. “Go to sleep, babe. We have shit to do in the morning.”

 

Brendon snuggled in further between his partners, and Spencer nuzzled into his pillow, one arm still over Brendon's waist. He closed his eyes, ignoring his headache, and thankfully fell back asleep. Dallon was right. They were on tour again, the high meant that they'd be doing a lot during the day, and sleep was important. 

 

Spencer woke up a few hours later, still feeling gross. He rolled over onto his back and squinted up at the ceiling. Sunlight was streaming in through the thin curtains, and the air outside of the bend was chilly. Spencer pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes, but he knew he wouldn't be falling back asleep. It was too bright out and he'd already woken up once. 

 

He turned over and gently shook Brendon. Brendon let out a disgruntled noise and burrowed under the covers, towards Dallon. Dallon turned over, acting as a human shield to Brendon. 

 

Spencer rubbed his face. “Fine. I'm gonna go shower and see if anyone else is awake.”

 

He took his time in the shower, half asleep under the warm water. The water pressure was shit, and Spencer felt like he was just getting rained on instead of getting clean. He almost left the shower with shampoo still in his hair, styled up in a mohawk like he was Ferris Bueller, but he caught his reflection through the fog covered mirror and turned the shower head back on to rinse it out. 

 

Spencer shuffled through his personal bag while blow-drying his hair. He grabbed the straightener and plugged that in, followed by his toothbrush, comb, and eyeliner. He wasn’t paying much attention to what he was doing, because he was a little hungover and very tired. Hotel beds were awesome, but Spencer had been out late and it was too early to be awake again. 

 

Rochelle, Jon, and most of TAI… were downstairs in the little breakfast area. Spencer made himself a cup of coffee and grabbed a banana from the fruit basket before sliding into the booth next to Jon. Jon looked at him sympathetically. “Rough night?”

 

“You could say that,” Spencer said. He looked up and glared over at Mike Carden. TAI… was closer to Dallon in age, but that didn’t mean Spencer couldn’t get pissed off that none of them looked dead. He angrily sipped from his coffee and ignored how it burned the tip of his tongue. “I should really start listening to your advice.”

 

Jon’s mouth curled up into a smile. “I told you so.”

 

“I know. Brendon and I are just idiots, I guess,” Spencer said. He sighed. Last night had been fun, sure, because he was out with his friends and people who’d hopefully become his friends, and he felt like a real young adult. He was carefree, he got carded a few times because he looked like a baby, but no one thought he was a girl and no one was weird about him, Dallon, and Brendon all being affectionate towards each other. Spencer wished there was a way to have that without the hangovers and feeling like something died in his mouth the next morning. 

 

Rochelle leaned around Jon. “You’re not idiots, trust me. I saw worse in college.”

 

“Sorority girls are terrifying on the weekends,” Jon said. “I seriously do not know how none of them got alcohol poisoning.”

 

“Speaking of alcohol poisoning, I called my dad last night,” Rochelle said. Spencer cringed without meaning to. He never knew how sensitive Rochelle would be towards shit, and sometimes she treated life-altering stuff like it was the weather. She looked calm now, unlike in the airport when she’d been on the verge of a breakdown. “I wasn’t feeling the party yesterday so I came back early and called him. He’s going back to the hospital in a few days, but it’s not like he’s only got two weeks to live and this is a latch-ditch effort to make things better between us so he can die with a peaceful conscious.”

 

“What does he want, then?” Spencer asked. He got the feeling that Jon already knew, because Jon was paying more attention to Spencer’s facial expressions than to what Rochelle was saying. 

 

“He wants to catch up with me, whenever I’m in Vegas again or we’re on a break. He said it’d be no pressure or anything, he just wants to keep up with me,” Rochelle said. She ran her hand through her hair, smoothing it down against her face. “I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I think… maybe he’s realising how shitty he was.”

 

Spencer tried to keep his face neutral. Sure, there were some parents who started out being homophobic and eventually came around to love their kid, but Spencer didn’t think that Rochelle’s dad was one of them. He swallowed. “It’s your choice. I’ll be there for you if you need me.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Jesus Christ, not everything has to end badly. I’m used to having a bad relationship with my dad. If he’s still a dick, then he’s still a dick, and nothing will have changed between the two of us. If I don’t try talking to him? I’ll always wonder in the back of my mind if maybe he was one of the good ones. And I don’t want to take that chance. I’d rather have a few months of a dad then never have a dad.”

 

As if they existed to serve as an example, Dallon and Brendon appeared in the elevator. Brendon was wearing a pair of gas station sunglasses that used to belong to Rochelle. He had his arm looped around Dallon like they were a rich straight couple showing up at prom. Brendon lowered his sunglasses to wink at Spencer, and it was so ridiculous that Spencer laughed into his coffee and winked back. Neither Brendon nor Dallon had parents to come home to. Spencer and Jon were the lucky ones, and even though Spencer didn’t believe in Rochelle’s dad, he understood why she needed to believe in him. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like without his family supporting him. 

 

Brendon grabbed a chair from the next table over and moved it up to the end of the booth, beside Spencer. He leaned over and kissed Spencer on the mouth, licking his lips a little. “You taste like coffee.”

 

“I’ve been eating coffee,” Spencer said. 

 

Brendon raised an eyebrow over his glasses. “Eating? Dude. What kind of coffee do they have in London?”

 

“Shut up, you know what I meant,” Spencer said, hiding his face behind his coffee. He was still half-asleep. That was his excuse, and he was sticking with it because it wasn’t a bad excuse and it was mostly the truth. 

 

“I think I’ll go eat some coffee,” Brendon said. He lowered his sunglasses down his nose again and winked at Spencer. Brendon kissed Spencer again before getting up and going over to the coffee stand, where Dallon was already standing and pouring themself a cup of their own. It hadn’t taken Dallon long to give up on being caffeine free. The year in Chicago and the last four months on the road had made it nearly impossible to live without some kind of artificial energy. Coffee was always the best option. 

 

Spencer turned back to Jon and Rochelle, not bothering to hide his smile. He was in love. He was allowed to be cheesy and find everything his partners did endearing. 

 

* * *

 

**August 28, 2009; London, England.**

 

Spencer was bored, and not interested in going running again. He wasn’t avoiding Gavin, because he liked the guy so far and he wasn’t afraid of breakfast, but he felt weird about it. He figured it was because he still felt like he was Brendon and Dallon’s boyfriend, and that dating or sleeping with someone else would be cheating on the two of them. 

 

He ended up in front of a gay bar, somehow. Spencer knew that his and Gwyn’s flat was in a gay neighbourhood, but it was still weird that there were so many gay bars around, and that they seemed so easy to find. He got in line and paid the entry fee anyway, figuring he might as well try it out. He’d never properly been to a gay bar. Before, he’d always gone with friends, or with his boyfriends to have a fun night out. Now, he was single, alone, and wondering if anyone in this bar would look at him and think he was attractive. 

 

Spencer still had a hard time looking at himself in the mirror, sometimes. He had the body of a man, but he didn’t look like the kind of man people considered attractive. He was soft, he was pale, his wrists felt too tiny, and his hips were too obvious. They looked like they belonged on a woman, and Spencer wasn’t a fucking woman. 

 

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked. He was a skinny twink with the sides of his head shaved off and his hair styled into perfect bouncy curls on top of his head.  _ That _ was the kind of guy people found attractive. 

 

Spencer glanced quickly at the menu board behind the bartender’s head. “Uh, a mojito?”

 

“Comin’ right up,” the bartender said. He winked before twirling away to go make it, shaking his hips as he walked. Spencer knew it was only an act. Bartenders had to act flirty with everyone so that everyone felt special. Spencer sure as hell didn’t feel special, but he wasn’t going to take it out on the bartender. It wasn’t his fault that Spencer would never feel like an actual man and instead consider himself an imposter for his entire life. 

 

Spencer managed a smile and a “thanks” when the bartender came back with his mojito. Spencer leaned his back against the bar, hooking his feet around the back of the bar stool so that he could watch everyone in the room. He took a sip of the mojito, surprised by the mint aftertaste, and then took a second sip. Spencer wondered if it would be weird to go dancing by himself, since he’d come with no one and he didn’t think he’d be leaving with anyone. 

 

“You’re the hot guy from the other club,” a voice said from Spencer’s left. Spencer jumped in his seat, almost spilling his drink. 

 

It was Mikey Way, holding a beer in his hand and looking at Spencer through those same sunglasses. Mikey took a long drink from the beer, his neck bobbing as he swallowed. Spencer wondered if he was showing off his jawline. It was a nice fucking jaw. Spencer had had many teenage dreams about having Mikey’s face between his legs. 

 

He took another, longer drink from his mojito. “And you’re Mikey Way, from that band.”

 

Mikey Way’s lips curled up in a smile. “Yeah, you caught me.”

 

“What are you doing in London, anyway?” Spencer asked. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, trying to think about anything other than tangling his fingers in Mikey’s bleached out hair and pushing him down onto his knees. It was hard. Mikey Way was hotter in person, and he smelled really, really good. Spencer took another sip of his drink. “I thought you guys were in the studio.”

 

Mikey pursed his lips. “Gee’s being… Gee’s being Gee. We had a record, and then we decided it sucked, and now Gee’s living in LA with his wife and their baby and wandering the desert, looking for inspiration. I don’t know what he’s hoping to find out there, other than a really bad sunburn.”

 

“Hey, don’t insult the desert like that,” Spencer said. “Cobra Starship wouldn’t exist without it, and I’m from there.”

 

“A real life cobra,” Mikey said. “I never thought I’d see one in the flesh.”

 

“I’ve been told I have quite the bite,” Spencer said.  _ What. What the fuck am I doing. He has a wife, he’s looking for a one-night stand at most, and there’s no way he’d choose me over anyone else in this bar.  _ Spencer reached up and pushed his hair away from his face. He ought to invest in some kind of hair product, if he was done with his emo phase. “Not that I’m… I’m not insinuating anything.”

 

“You could, if you wanted to,” Mikey said. He was leaned toward Spencer, and even though his eyes were covered, Spencer knew that Mikey was watching him, intregued. “I was kind of hoping you would, last time at the other club.”

 

“I’m not going to be your London hook up,” Spencer said, pulling his drink in closer. He wanted to, obviously, but he was slightly terrified of having sex with someone who didn’t know him well. What if Mikey freaked out when he realised Spencer didn't have a normal dick? Spencer took a deep breath. “I don’t do one night stands, either.”

 

“I don’t--I didn’t mean it like that,” Mikey said. “I meant that you’re hot, you’re not making a big deal about me being Mikey Way, and I really want to go back to one of our places and have sex. And maybe have omletes in the morning, I don’t know. It doesn’t have to be anything serious, I promise.”

 

Spencer sighed. “I don’t know.”

 

“It’s cool, though, if you’re not interested,” Mikey said. He looked unsure, like he wasn’t famous, gorgeous, and by far the most attractive guy in the room. 

 

“Fuck it,” Spencer said. “If you wanna be friends with benefits or whatever, I’m down. But not tonight, okay? I think you’re hot too, but I’m just… I need like, a day to think about it.”

 

“So you’ll be here tomorrow night?” Mikey asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

 

Spencer shook his head. “Nah, I have work. I can give you the place I work at, and we can go grab shitty pub food and a beer to talk things over? If that’s okay?”

 

“As long as it’s low-key. I’m still in a relationship, and I don’t want to drag you into anything,” Mikey said. He lowered his sunglasses and looked out into the dancefloor. “We’ve been having issues for a while, but there’s no easy answer and I just needed some space. And a change of scenery, I guess.”

 

“Well, I promise you I look nothing like your wife,” Spencer said. Mikey raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything about Spencer’s comment, thankfully. He pulled out his phone and handed it to Spencer, who gave Mikey Way his phone number, his first name, and the address of the music store. The whole interaction was weird. Mikey left him alone at the bar not long after that, and Spencer finished his drink before paying and leaving to go home. 

 

He’d just given Mikey Way his phone number. Mikey Way wanted to have sex. With  _ Spencer _ . Spencer hadn’t even had to do anything; Mikey just took one look at Spencer from across the room and had decided that Spencer was the guy he wanted to have casual sex with. 

 

Spencer called up Linda, because he needed to yell excitedly at someone, and he didn’t think he could do that with Rochelle anymore. 

 

“Spencer? Isn’t it like three in the morning there?” Linda asked, instead of saying hello. 

 

“Yeah, I was out at a bar,” Spencer said. He frowned. “That doesn’t make me sound bad, does it? Being out until three in the morning, at a gay bar?”

 

“Well, you’re twenty-one, so I’d say that’s pretty normal,” Linda said. “At least it is over here in the States. So, now that we’ve established that you’re a normal young adult and you like to party, why are you calling me? Is this the drunken phone call my father warned me about?”

 

“I had a single mojito, shut the fuck up,” Spencer said. “And I met Mikey Way.”

 

“Famous person Mikey Way, or a guy with the same name?”

 

“Famous person,” Spencer said. He headed down into a subway station, to see if they were still open. It wasn’t, but Spencer perched himself on the entrance gate anyway. “And get this: he thinks I’m hot and wants to have sex with me.  _ Mikey fucking Way _ . What the hell is my life now?”

 

“Do you want to have sex with him, or are you just fluffing your peacock feathers at me?” Linda said. Spencer suddenly remembered that her ex-girlfriend, Sarah, was now dating the singer from Paramore, and that Linda was the only one from the Chicago crew who didn’t have a famous partner. He knew she wasn’t bitter about it, because Linda had no interest in becoming famous herself, but it probably still stung. 

 

“Yeah, but I’m also nervous,” Spencer said. “Like, what if he sees me naked and just… is not interested?”

 

“Then I’ll fly out to London and kick his ass myself,” Linda said. “Listen, Spence. You’re a good looking guy, even in the eyes of a raging lesbian, and if someone like Mikey Way wants to get in your bed, let him get in your bed. And if he turns out to be a dick, Gwyn and I can write really shitty reviews about My Chem’s next album so that they don’t get any money from it.”

 

“You’re amazing,” Spencer said, shaking his head and grinning. “But I’m gonna go home now, because I’m sitting in a subway station and I most likely smell like a bar. And that’s not a good combo at three in the morning.”

 

“Go to bed, you useless bisexual,” Linda said, laughing into the phone. Spencer said he would, and ended the call. 

 

He left the subway station, and meandered around for a bit until he figured out where he was, and then headed back to the flat. Gwyn was asleep when he came in, so he made sure to stay quiet as he grabbed his pajamas and headed to the shower. He was naked and scrubbing shampoo through his hair before he remembered that Mikey Way wanted to have sex with him. Spencer closed his eyes and reached down, rubbing his thumb over his dick and thinking about how Mikey’s skin would feel against him. 

 

It was one of the easiest orgasms of his life. 

 

* * *

 

**September 2, 2009; London, England.**

 

Spencer made a lot of bad decisions in his life. He’d long ago come to terms with the fact that he was the impulsive one, not Rochelle, in their friendship. 

 

This wasn’t the worst idea he’d had, but it wasn’t the best. It was his first day off since he’d officially met Mikey in the club, and even though Mikey hadn’t been able to come in because Gerard kept Skyping him to talk about album stuff, Spencer was doing fine. Mikey had made it clear that he wanted a casual sex relationship with Spencer, but that his brother came first and that he was trying to work things out so that he and Spencer could get together. 

 

Spencer was sitting in front of his laptop, alone in the flat because Gwyn was at work, and was staring at the words he’d started to type into Google before chickening out. 

 

_ Panic! at the Disco  _

 

His own band was off-limits. Spencer was afraid to find out something he already knew, which was that the band had broken up after Spencer disappeared, and that they were all successfully living their own lives. Spencer wanted the best for his ex band members, of course, but he didn’t want to know what they were doing. Not yet. It had barely been a month since everything ended. 

 

Spencer clicked enter anyway. The first page was filled with news about the Ross-Walker wedding and the split that followed. Spencer read a wedding article, first, just so he could avoid the truth for a little longer. He smiled while reading it, because for that one day, everything had been fine and fun and happy, and Rochelle and Jon had been so in love with each other. There were pictures, too, of Rochelle and Jon at the alter, looking at each other like they were the only thing in the world. There was a picture of him, standing and giving a toast and getting close to tears. 

 

There was, of course, a picture of him sitting between Dallon and Brendon. Dallon was holding Rochelle’s boquet in one hand and tickling Spencer’s face with it, and Brendon was leaning in to kiss Spencer’s cheek. The calm before the storm. Seriously. 

 

Spencer returned to the results page. It was too painful to look at any wedding photos. He was sure Jon and Rochelle had put the good ones on their Facebooks for everyone to see anyway. 

 

_ Panic! at the Disco: A Hiatus, or the End of the Band? _

 

_ Panic!’s last concert was July 22nd, 2009, just three days before guitarists Jon Walker and Rochelle Ross-Walker tied the knot in Cape Town, South Africa. At some point between the show and the wedding, someone must have left the God-damn door open, because Panic! split right in half.  _

 

_ The newly-wed couple went on to their honeymoon, not answering any questions, and Brendon Urie (vocals) and Dallon Weekes (bass) headed back to the States to do who knows what. And the drummer, Spencer Smith? Well, no one has even  _ seen _ him since the fateful night in Cape Town.  _

 

_ Fans, of course, are wondering what this means for the future of their favourite band. Is Panic! at the Disco over, after only four years and two polar opposite albums? Or are they just following in the footsteps of their forefathers, Fall Out Boy, and taking an indefinite hiatus to work on their own lives? It’s too soon to tell, but maybe if someone can find the drummer, he’ll be more willing to answer the ominous question: _

 

_ What happened in Cape Town? _

 

Spencer slammed his laptop shut and fled from the room, going straight to his bathroom. He felt like he was going to throw up, but he didn’t. He just stared into the toilet bowl, his stomach rolling around haphazardly, threatening to ruin the afternoon even more. 

 

“We’re not on hiatus,” Spencer said to his toilet. “And I don’t have any answers.”

 

That, of course, was a lie. Spencer had all the answers. He’d been there the whole time, and he’d seen it all fall down. It wasn’t as pretty as the tabloids made it out to be. 

 

* * *

 

**January 23, 2006; Leicester, England.**

 

“I hate interviews,” Jon muttered from behind his coffee. The five of them were all smushed together on a couch, waiting for the woman who’d be interviewing them to come in from where she was getting her mics adjusted. 

 

“We promise to let you speak this time,” Brendon said, leaning over Rochelle and Spencer to mess with Jon’s hair. He’d started straightening it recently, to blend in with the rest of the band. Jon still wouldn’t let Rochelle come near him with anything that wasn’t a simple black eyeliner pen, but Rochelle had accepted that her boyfriend wasn’t a scene kid like the rest of them. 

 

“It’s not that, it’s that they always ask the same damn questions,” Jon said. The interview lady came back in, wearing a pasted on smile and badly attached blonde hair strips. Jon mimiced her smile back. “Hey, how’s everything going?”

 

“Everything’s all set up,” she said, still smiling. She handed Brendon the second microphone and sat down in the single seat facing them. She crossed her legs at the knee and turned to them. She had notecards in her hand, which worried Spencer. He’d watched enough interview of other bands to know that notecards usually meant fan questions. Fan questions were always wild cards, because fans could get fucking weird. Spencer would know. He was one, just not of his own band. 

 

“So, to start us off, I’ve got a few questions from fans,” she said. “The first one is from Alexandra, age eleven, in South London. She asked,  _ Rochelle, what’s it like being a girl guitarist? All the guys at my school think that girls can’t be in bands if they’re not singers, and I want to prove them wrong _ ,” the woman looked up, smiling in a slightly condescending way, “aw, that’s adorable.”

 

“Well, um, I think if you’re gonna be a girl in a band, you should, um, you should just be a girl in a band,” Rochelle said. She was leaning towards Brendon, her face directed at the microphone. It was strange, watching how different Rochelle was in interviews versus how she was in real life. She was quieter and less sure of herself. “And, you know, if guys are being jerks, you don’t have to include them in your band, you know? I mean, Spence and I didn’t start out with, uh, with these guys. But when the original guys turned out to be, uh, jerks and stuff, we stopped playing with them.”

 

Jon reached around his girlfriend and slipped the mic out of Brendon’s hands. “Music should be fun, and it’s for everyone. So, next time a guy at school tells you you can’t be a girl guitarist, play an epic riff in his face and tell him to suck it.”

 

Dallon laughed, burying their face in Spencer’s shoulder to muffle the sound. Spencer reached up and petted their hair. 

 

“Alright,” the interview lady said, not sure how to react to Jon’s addition. “The next question is from Dan, 18, in Manchester. He asked:  _ nothing wrong with being gay, but Jon, what’s it like being around gay people all the rime? Do you ever get tired of it? _ ”

 

“Well, no,” Jon said. He was still holding the microphone. “Mainly because I’m bi. The only person in this band who isn’t bisexual in this band is Dallon, and they’re only into guys.”

 

Jon turned to Dallon and stuck the microphone at their face. “So, Dal, does it ever get tiring, hearing us talk about how beautiful women are?”

 

“No,” Dallon said simply. 

 

“So you are bisexual, then?” The interviewer asked. “Is that because you’re dating Rochelle, or did you call yourself bi before?”

 

Spencer and Dallon both reached to grab the microphone out of Jon’s hands. Spencer got it first, and he leaned forward so that the interviewer could see him clearly. “If you’re saying that Rochelle doesn’t count as a girl, don’t. Because she is, and Jon’s sexuality didn’t change because of her.”

 

The interviewer laughed nervously. “Didn’t realise that was such a touchy subject, I’m sorry. Shall we go onto the next question?”

 

They had no other choice but to agree. That was another thing Spencer didn’t particularly enjoy about interviews. There were too many people who just didn’t get it. They didn’t get that, just because she hadn’t always called herself Rochelle, Rochelle was still a woman and her dating Jon didn’t make him gay. There were people who didn’t get that Dallon was non-binary, and Spencer, Dallon, and Brendon hadn’t even bothered to explain their relationship to the public. They didn’t hide, but they weren’t running around, trying to explain polyamory to the world. 

 

They all survived the interview, and the interviewer pulled Rochelle over to the side afterward. Spencer and Jon followed, because it was instinctive for both of them to do so. The interviewer looked over her shoulder to acknowledge the two of them, but she didn’t speak directly to them. “Rochelle, I’m sorry about what happened out there. I’m not… I’m new to LGBT issues, but I’m trying to be a good ally. If you want, we can cut that entire section out.”

 

“It’s okay,” Rochelle said, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s a learning experience for everyone, even the people who watch it. I didn’t come out of the womb knowing everything about being transgender, so I get it when other people don’t. At least you weren’t a dick about it.”

 

“Alright,” she said, nodding. She glanced over her shoulder at Jon and Spencer. “Are you two okay with us airing that part?”

 

“If Rochelle’s okay with it, then so am I,” Jon said. Spencer nodded in agreement. It wasn’t like the interviewer had misgendered Rochelle or anything. It wasn’t the worst that they’d had to deal with, and Rochelle was right. The interviewer’s slip up was also an educational moment for everyone else. Spencer didn’t like playing teacher to people who didn’t know anything, but they had to learn about LGBT stuff somehow. 

 

The interviewer smiled. “Alright! Well, thank you all, and I hope the rest of your tour is as fun as the first half seems to have been!”

 

Spencer, Jon, and Rochelle thanked her, and then returned to where Dallon, Brendon, and the band’s bodyguard were waiting. They still had a bit of time to burn before the guys from TAI… returned from their adventure of the day, so they returned to the hotel to nap or go hang out at the indoor pool. 

 

Spencer was glad it was indoors, because he’d missed swimming, and his last time in the water hadn’t ended well. New Year’s Eve tipsy diving was not the smartest choice, now that Spencer was looking back at it. He wasn’t sure why he’d thought it was a smart idea in the first place. Vegas got  _ cold  _ at night. 

 

“What’re your plans for the rest of the day?” Dallon asked once the three of them were in their room again. Brendon had already gotten out of his shirt, and had launched himself at the bend.

 

Spencer watched Brendon’s back move up and down as he breathed for a few moments before answering. “I was thinking about swimming, but I don’t want to go down alone. And I’m pretty sure Jon and Rochelle are having sex, because they’re always doing that--”

 

“Like we’re any better,” Dallon said, smirking a little. Spencer put his finger over Dallon’s mouth, mock shushing them. So what if the three of them had been fucking that morning and had missed the breakfast hours? It was fine. There were enough stores and cafes on the way to the interview that they’d all survived. Dallon kissed Spencer’s finger. “But I’ll go down with you and protect you from the rabid fans.”

 

“I’m gonna jack off, since you two can’t get the message that I wanted sex,” Brendon said into the mattress. 

 

Dallon walked over and smacked Brendon solidly on his ass. “Dropping half naked onto the bend with your ass in the air does not count as being enticing, Bren. You do that all the time.”

 

“Maybe I want sex all the time,” Brendon said. 

 

Spencer face-palmed. “We know, B, but sometimes we have to ignore you for the sake of our own stamina. You’re a quick little guy when it comes to rebounding.”

 

Brendon flipped himself over so that he was leaned up on his elbows and looking at Spencer. “You can’t talk, Mr. Consecutive Orgasms. You’re a fucking cheater when it comes to sex.”

 

“He has a point,” Dallon said. Spencer narrowed his eyes at them. Dallon put their hands up. “I don’t have any issues with it. I’m just agreeing that you’re the best at multiple rounds of sex.”

 

“Which is awesome, because Dallon’s like an old man,” Brendon said, winking up at Dallon. “I love your old man dick, though.”

 

“I will smack your ass again,” Dallon said. Spencer couldn’t tell if it was meant to be a threat or an invitation. Brendon had a thing for getting slapped during sex. He had a thing for pain in general. 

 

“Smack me, daddy,” Brendon sing-songed, turning back over onto his stomach and wiggling his ass in the air. Spencer bit his lip to keep from laughing. Brendon’s ass was a lot better when he wasn’t wearing girl jeans that were emboidered with sequins on the back pockets. 

 

Dallon looked over at Spencer. “I’m going swimming.”

 

“Me too, bye Brendon, have fun jacking off,” Spencer said. He leaned over Brendon to press a kiss against his lower back, right above the dimples that formed above his ass. Spencer stood up and gave Bredon a light smack, just for the fun of it. Brendon wiggled his ass again, but Spencer ignored it and instead grabbed his bathing suit and followed Dallon into the bathroom to change. 

 

Technically, there was no need to go into the bathroom, but Brendon was bad at ignoring his partners when they were naked and Spencer actually wanted to go swim for a bit. They could have plenty of sex later, when they were supposed to be sleeping or packing up to go to the next show. The three of them had gotten very good at having sex on tour over the past week. 

 

Spencer wasn’t watching Dallon while the two of them changed, but he wasn’t not watching Dallon either. And Dallon was doing the same, except they were looking at Spencer through the mirror and when Spencer made eye contact with them, they winked. Once dressed, Spencer leaned up and kissed Dallon, pressing his naked chest against theirs. Spencer still had some pretty nasty scars from his top surgery, but he didn’t mind. They were cool, and he’d gotten them because their first ever tour started before Spencer was healed enough that he could be moving his arms around a lot. 

 

Dallon trailed their hands down Spencer’s sides, pressing against the soft skin. Spencer leaned into Dallon, holding their face in his hands and being careful not to tug at their hair. Dallon turned into a horny mess whenever Spencer or Brendon pulled at their hair. It was hot, but Spencer wasn’t trying to turn Dallon on. He was just enjoying making out with his partner. 

 

“Brendon’s going to get suspsicious,” Dallon whispered into Spencer’s ear. Their breath tickled, sending shivers down to Spencer’s crotch. He pressed his face against Dallon’s shoulder to center himself. Spencer took a deep breath and nodded, before stepping back from Dallon and looking at himself in the mirror. He was a little flushed, but it wasn’t super noticable. 

 

Brendon, naturally, was naked when Spencer and Dallon came out. He had one hand wrapped around his dick and his other thumb pressing against his hole. Spencer shook his head and walked over to Brendon, climbing up next to them. “You’re a horny fuck, aren’t you?”

 

“You could say that,” Brendon breathed out. Spencer leaned down and kissed him, biting and pulling at Brendon’s lower lip until Brendon moaned against Spencer’s mouth. Spencer pulled up and Brendon followed him for a moment before dropping back down onto the bed. He looked up at Spencer with wide, dark eyes. “Hey, can I use one of your dicks?”

 

“Go for it,” Spencer said, shrugging like the thought of Brendon, alone in the hotel room, fucking himself on one of Spencer’s cocks wasn’t hot as shit. “Save some for later, though. We are coming back.”

 

Brendon winked, and Dallon and Spencer grabbed towels before heading out of the hotel room and down to the elevator. Spencer wrapped his towel around his shoulders like a cape, still unsure about walking around without a shirt. He’d never been impressed with his own body, even before surgery, and it was one thing to look in the mirror and see his surgery scars for what they were, but it was different for other people to look at him. Spencer wasn’t used to being exposed. 

 

Dallon bumped their hip against Spencer’s as they rode the elevator down. “Don’t worry about it. It’s January; I don’t think there are going to be a lot of people at the pool.”

 

Dallon was right, which made Spencer feel a lot better about taking off his towel cape. There were only a handful of other people there, including a couple with two small children who were splashing around in the shallow end of the pool. As Dallon dropped their towel onto a chair, they hooked their chin over Spencer’s shoulder and whispered, “better not drink the water.”

 

“Not unless you’re Pete Wentz,” Spencer added. He couldn’t get over the fact that Pete had an actual piss kink, and that Rochelle had sucked his dick. 

 

Dallon smiled and kissed the base of Spencer’s neck before standing up to their full height and heading to the deeper end of the pool. Spencer dropped his own towel on top of Dallon’s and then followed them. Spencer got ahead of Dallon and jumped into the pool, cannonballing into the water. He came up grinning, and flipped his hair out of his face. Dallon was standing on the edge, their arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. There were droplets of water on their chest from where Spencer had splashed them. Spencer shrugged. “You’re getting in anyway.”

 

“I wanted to get in on my own time, thank you,” Dallon said. They sat down on the edge of the pool and dropped their legs into the water, watching Spencer with a crooked smile on their face. “Now you’ll have to pay for your misdeeds.”

 

“What are you--oh shi-- _ crap _ !” Spencer said, managing not to swear in front of the children as Dallon dropped into the water and jetted across to where Spencer was, grabbing him by his knees and pulling him under. Spencer flailed, trying not to breathe in water, and grabbed onto Dallon’s shoulder. They were grinning under the water, their hair flowing around their head like a crown. They swam forward and gave Spencer a quick kiss on the nose before coming up for air. 

 

Spencer popped up not long after, shaking his hair out of his face so that he could actually see Dallon. He hadn’t realised how long it was when it wasn’t flat-ironed and swept away from his face. He put his hands on his hips. “Do you do that often? Kiss people underwater?”

 

“It happened once, in college,” Dallon said. They glanced over at the other couple and their children, but they weren’t paying attention. “We did other things, too, but there weren’t children present and it was at night.”

 

“Think Brendon would be into that?” Spencer asked. He’d obviously never had sex in a pool, but he was willing to try for the sake of adventure. 

 

“Brendon’s into most strange things,” Dallon said. “I’m sure he’ll love the idea.”

 

* * *

 

**September 2, 2009; London, England.**

 

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?!” Gwyn called out as she entered the apartment. Spencer groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, wondering if he could just suffocate himself with his pillow and avoid talking to people ever again.

 

“I got you a cake--hope you like chocolate--and Liz and Miranda are on their way,” Gwyn said. She was walking up the stairs, to where Spencer would usually spend his down time in the living room, playing one of the few video games he’d brought with him in his haste to get the hell out of Cape Town. He wasn’t there, though. He was down in his bedroom, trying to feel real again. There were articles out there, about the end, and they were curious. When journalists got curious and no one was talking, they always went for blood. It had happened with Rochelle’s dad, with Linda’s general existence, and with Sarah as well. Nothing was sacred any more, and it was a lot less fun being the subject of tabloids, instead of just reading them. 

 

“Spencer?” Gwyn called out, and then he heard her knocking on his door. “Spence, love, are you awake?”

 

“Unfortunately,” Spencer said into his pillow, and rolled over. At least he didn’t look like shit rolled over. He’d shaved yesterday morning, and his hair was still manageable. 

 

Gwyn was standing in his doorway, her denim shoulder bag slipping off of her shoulder, and holding a store bought chocolate cake in her hands. She was looking at Spencer the same way his mom did every time he got his period and was in too much pain to get out of bed. Spencer dropped his face back into the pillows and tried to breathe. He felt like he was going to start crying again. Today wasn’t his day. 

 

He heard Gwyn set the cake and her bag down, and then cross the room to sit on the edge of the bed. “Bad day, I’m guessing?”

 

“You could say that,” Spencer said. He turned to face her again. “I’m, uh, I’m not gonna be great company. You might want to tell your girlfriend and your friend to make a raincheck on the party idea.”

 

“Already have,” Gwyn said. “Do you want me to text Linda, see if she’s up to talking with you? She always seems to make you happy.”

 

“It’s fine, I was just reminded of some stuff I didn’t want to remember,” Spencer said. He sat up, so that he didn’t feel so pathetic. “Remember how I said I was kind of famous, and how people might recognise me, or you might see my face in music magazines?”

 

“Of course,” Gwyn said. “At first, I thought you were just messing around, but I’m starting to think that you really were famous, before you came here.”

 

“I was,” Spencer said. He was glad she didn’t say that he was still famous. Spencer didn’t want to be bamous. He wanted a break. “But the band started fighting, and I left, like, right as they were all falling out with each other. I didn’t want to stick around and see the carnage, but then I was an idiot and googled myself, and the entire search page is just… break-up break-up break-up. I don’t know… it was too much at once or something.”

 

“Sorry you had to see it, then,” Gwyn said, giving Spencer a sympathetic expression. “But, you’re moving on, right? After all, you’ve got a flat here, you’ve got a job, a few friends? Maybe a more than a friend?”

 

“Oh, no, we’re not…” Spencer said, figuring she was talking about Mikey and how the two had been texting back and forth recently. “We’re not dating or anything. We’re just both ex-music scene guys, and we’ve been trying to coordinate a time to go out to a pub or something, and talk about shit for real.”

 

“I hope it works out for you, whatever you’re lookng for,” Gwyn said. She squeezed Spencer’s shoulder, and he thought,  _ me too. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I hope it works out in the end. _

 

* * *

 

**February 2, 2006; Las Vegas, Nevada.**

 

The band had gotten back from England about a week ago, and Spencer was already leaving again. He was in Chicago to hang out with Linda and Sarah, since he had the time and the money (which was awesome, having money and independence at the same time). It was also his first time flying alone, and he was slowly realising that he had no idea what he was doing. 

 

Spencer was a quick learner, though, and he knew how to watch people and act like he knew what was going on. He had his earbuds in and a single weekend bag for the trip, and he looked a lot more confident than he felt. 

 

Security was wild. No one looked at him strangely when he used his passport as his form of ID even though he was on a domestic flight, and he only had to get patted down because he’d forgotten to take off his belt. Spencer gathered his things as quickly as he could, and got away from security. He was glad that passports allowed someone to change their sex, because Spencer did not want to have to explain to a TSA person why he looked like a guy but his ID said he was female. 

 

He texted Linda, saying he was in the terminal, and then headed to Starbucks to grab a coffee. He always had coffee before he flew, even if it was an overnight flight. Spencer hadn’t learned from England, and he didn’t care to learn. He liked coffee, and he liked being awake and reading on airplanes. It was one of the only places he could read, because he got too motion sick if he tried to read books on the tour bus. 

 

The plane took off on time, and Spencer was seated next to a middle aged woman who smelled strongly of tobacco. She looked Spencer up and down once before the flight started, and pursed her lips in disappointment at him. Spencer wasn’t sure what he’d done that made her disapprove of him, but it didn’t matter because he wasn’t trying to make her like him anyway. He popped in a piece of gum and wondered if it would be rude to pull out his (three ounce bottle) of cologne and spray some at her. 

 

She really smelled. Spencer didn’t think he’d been around anyone who smoked as much as this woman. He spent most of the flight wondering how she didn’t have lung cancer. 

 

Linda and Sarah were waiting for him with a sign that read, in all caps,  _ SPENCER THE DRUMMER _ on it. Spencer waved at them and walked over, glad to be able to breathe something that wasn’t nicotine for the first time in a few hours. He hugged them both tightly. “Hey, guys. How’s Chicago been without us?”

 

“You smell like cigarettes,” Sarah said, looking Spencer up and down. “Did you start smoking or something?”

 

“No, but the lady next to me needs to stop,” Spencer said. “I couldn’t fucking breathe.”

 

“We’ll let you shower then,” Linda said. “We’re staying with Sarah’s parents for the weekend, by the way, and Chicago’s missed you guys. You know Fall Out Boy is starting to leave for LA? Everyone here that matters is slowly leaving.”

 

“Listen, when I have a long enough break between tours that I can move somewhere, I’ll drag Dallon and Brendon back up to Chicago,” Spencer said. “They don’t want to stay in Vegas either, but we don’t have enough downtime to look for a place to stay.”

 

“You sound like my parents,” Sarah said. “Now that I’m a senior, they’re talking about moving away from the city and getting some kind of dream country house. I haven’t seen anything but HGTV and potential house plans for the past three months.”

 

“My parents are trying to convince me to transfer to the University of Texas,” Linda said, making a face. “Apparently, my dad’s getting relocated to a fort in Arizona, but they’re trying to trade with someone so that we can go back to Texas. My parents hate Chicago, surprise, because it’s cold and liberal as fuck. They said someting about having trouble finding a church that meets their beliefs.”

 

“Maybe they should update their beliefs,” Spencer suggested. 

 

Linda laughed. “Good luck with that. I still haven’t come out to them. They’re mad enough that I joined the college Democrats and mentioned volunteering for the Planned Parenthood in town.”

 

“I don’t want you working there, either, but that’s because it’s dangerous,” Sarah said. She intertwined her fingers with Linda’s as the three of them waited by the curb for the train into downtown Chicago to arrive. “Pro-life people are terrifying. They’ve got posters and shit and fake bloody babies… no wonder women are terrified of going there.”

 

“Which is exactly why I want to be an escort,” Linda said. The train arrived, and the three of them got on, crowding in with all of the other Chicago people fleeing the airport. Linda grabbed onto a pole with one hand while still holding onto Sarah with her other. “Those people shouldn’t be ashamed of getting abortions, or getting healthcare, because Planned Parenthood does that too. It’s a good place, honestly. Those pro-life assholes just don’t like women having control of their bodies.”

 

Spencer agreed with Linda. He had no issues with Planned Parenthood, and they’d been the ones in Vegas to supply him with his T injections. 

 

The sun was setting as they arrived at Sarah’s house. Sarah’s mom was home, and she showed Spencer and Linda around, even though it was fairly obvious that Linda had been to Sarah’s house before and knew where everything was. Sarah’s mom looked over her shoulder as she opened the guest room door. “And Spencer, this is where you’ll be sleeping. I’m sure you’re a charming young man, but you know how it is. No boys and girls together, and all that. I wouldn’t want you guys getting up to anything inappropriate.”

 

“Of course not, Ms. Orzechowski,” Spencer said, hoping he got Sarah’s last name right. It was weird, being an adult but not knowing if other people saw him as an adult. He never knew if he was allowed to call them by their first names or not. 

 

“Well, dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes, but I’ll call for you guys when it is,” she said. “Let me know if you need anything.”

 

“Thanks!” Spencer and Linda chorused at the same time. They waited until Sarah’s mom had gone down the stairs, and then all three of them headed to Sarah’s room to hang out. Sarah kept the door open, because she said it made her mom happier. Sarah and Linda were in Sarah’s bed, and Spencer was in the giant plush lime green chair Sarah had. It was comfortable. 

 

“What’s touring like?” Sarah asked. 

 

“Fun. Cramped,” Spencer said. “I knew what five people in a minivan was going to be like because of last year, but it’s a lot worse when you’re travelling across the country and right in front of you is the Fall Out Boy bus.”

 

“Ooh, dang, that must have sucked,” Linda said. “Are you getting a bus for the next tour, or is it the Brobecks van again?”

 

“I don’t know if we have enough money yet. The record’s doing really well, and there are a lot of people who like us, but most bands are in a van for years before they can get a bus,” Spencer said. He tapped his fingers against his leg. It was snowing outside. Spencer hoped he wouldn’t get trapped here and be unable to fly back to Las Vegas in a few days. “It’s fine, though, living out of the van and hotel rooms. There’s a lot of singing, when we’re driving. We have to make Brendon shut up sometimes so that he won’t wreck his voice though.”

 

“And also because he’s Brendon and he outsings everyone, right?” Linda asked. 

 

Spencer nodded. “That too.”

 

“Is he still super loud?” Sarah asked. “Because that’s most of what I remember about him, being loud and really, really flamboyant.”

 

“He’s still both of those. He won’t let Rochelle experiment on him anymore, though. I think it’s because she discovered glitter,” Spencer said. “Dallon’s fine with it, though.”

 

“Dallon would look cool in glitter,” Linda said, nodding. Spencer wondered if she’d ever be attracted to someone like Dallon, who was non-binary. Obviously she and Dallon would never go out, because Dallon was only into guys and they were both seeing other people, but it was something to think about. 

 

“What’s the plan for the weekend?” Spencer asked. “Or am I just a cover so that the two of you can have a lot of sex?”

 

Linda rolled her eyes. “You’re more than a hetero distraction, Spence. And we’re going skating tomorrow, if you’re up for it.”

 

“I’m always up for it,” Spencer said. He’d never been skating, but that was fine. He was a quick learner. Surely he’d be fine once he got on the ice.

 

* * *

 

**February 3, 2006; Las Vegas, Nevada.**

 

Rochelle knew it was a bad idea, but she was doing it anyway. Her dad was dying, and she wanted to give him the chance to fix things. She didn’t think it would work, but she’d rather give him the chance. Either she’d be right, and her dad was still a homophobic piece of shit, or she’d be pleasantly surprised. Rochelle would come out okay, either way. She was used to her dad hating her. He couldn’t let her down more than he already had. 

 

“Hi, who are you here to see?” the receptionist behind the desk asked. 

 

Rochelle tightened her hold on her purse and swallowed thickly. She wished she wasn’t so nervous about this. She wished she didn’t hate hospitals. “Um, George. George Ross. He’s my dad.”

 

“And what’s your name, sweetheart?” she asked. So far, Rochelle was passing. Thankfully. She didn’t want to get outed in a hospital of all places. 

 

“Uh, Rochelle,” she said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. She wished her hair was longer, and that she looked more like one of the scene queens she’d had a crush on in high school. She was pretty sure she just looked like an awkward grunge kid who’d time-travelled from Gerard Way’s basement in 2002 without realising it. 

 

“Alright, Rochelle, you’re on the list,” the receptionist said, smiling up at Rochelle like she was letting her into a club instead of a hospital wing. “It’s room seven-oh-eight, down the hall and on your left. Should be near the end.”

 

“Thank you,” Rochelle said, and walked through the doors. Immediately, she was overwhelmed with the smell of quarentined, bleached hall, and almost gagged at the smell. It was brighter back here, and her boots clicked angrily against the linolium. She shivered, hating how accurate  _ Camisado _ had been about hospitals. 

 

This was different, though. She wasn’t bruised up and dragging her dad in, crying because she was afraid he’d choke on his own vomit and she’d get shipped off to child services. She wasn’t shaking and crying and hungry outside of her dad’s hospital room, avoiding the nurses because she was afraid that they’d just  _ know _ if they saw her. Rochelle was here to see her dad, and she wasn’t afraid anymore. She was nineteen. They couldn’t take her away from Spencer or the only family that ever held onto her. 

 

The door was closed, but Rochelle didn’t knock before entering. Her dad had ignored her attempts at privacy for years; she figured she had earned this. 

 

“You don’t look half bad,” he said from the bed. Rochelle hid how she flinched at the sight of him. Her dad was thinner and paler than she remembered, and the hospital staff hadn’t trimmed his hair the way he liked it. His hair was curly too, now that it was long enough to do anything. He raised his hand and motioned for her to bring a chair over. 

 

Rochelle kept the door open, but she grabbed the chair and came over to sit by him. He smelled like hospital. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering again. It wasn’t all from the chilled interior. She rubbed her arms. “What’d you want to talk to me about?”

 

“I wanted to apologise, for not being your dad,” he said. He was watching her carefully as he spoke, and she was watching him back. They were both waiting for the other to strike the first blow. “I know it doesn’t change anything, and that I did hurt you, but I still want to apologise. You’re a brilliant woman, Rochelle, and I couldn’t see that.”

 

“You were an alcoholic,” Rochelle said, ignoring the bile rising up in her throat. “You weren’t… you weren’t thinking straight.”

 

“You don’t have to defend me to myself, Rochelle, I know what I did,” he said. He sounded so guilty, like he couldn’t believe he’d abused the woman in front of him, his only daughter, for years. There was a large part of Rochelle that wanted to kick her chair back and get in his face and scream at  _ him _ . To tell him that he deserved to feel like shit, that he’d ruined her life, that she could never feel safe around someone drinking because of him, that she was holding Jon back from enjoying himself on tour because she was scared of him when he had a beer in his hand but she was too scared of letting him go because she didn’t know how to be alone with herself. She wanted to show him the scars on the insides of her arms, hidden up her sleeves so that Spencer would never know that she hurt herself because she was too scared to kill herself. 

 

Rochelle wanted to scream so much at him, scream until her lungs went out and she was spitting and crying all over his dying body, but she didn’t. Instead, she sat up straight and said, “did you listen to the album?”

 

“I bought it, actually. Last thing I purchased before coming in here,” he said. He was smiling a little. “I’ve been playing it for all of the nurses, telling them that my daughter wrote the whole thing when she was still in high school.”

 

“You know which songs are about you, right?” Rochelle said. “And that they’re not… they’re not good songs?”

 

“I know,” he said. “That was part of the reason I wanted to talk to you. The first time I heard it, I knew… I knew those were your words, because they were so painful and raw, and I realised… I also realised that I was the one who made you feel that way.”

 

Rochelle swallowed. She was feeling too many emotions at once. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

 

“I don’t want anything,” he said. He ran his tongue over his lips, and then reached out to the cup of water sitting on the table beside him. Rochelle could hat grabbed it for him, but she sat back and let him struggle for it on his own. He took a sip and kept it in his lap. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, or to love me as your father. This isn’t about me, and what I can get out of the last few months of my life. This is about you, and what I can do while I’m still here.”

 

Rochelle pushed her hair back from her face. She was afraid she was going to cry. She didn’t want to cry in front of her dad. “Can I come out to you?”

 

“Of course you can,” he said. “I’ve spent too much time being bitter. I want to accept you, however you are.”

 

“Well, dad,” she said, choking on the word because it never came out of her mouth without a little bit of malice or fear. “I’m… I’m bisexual, which means I like women, and I like men. And I’m not confused about it, either. I’ve known, for a while.”

 

He was nodding, and there were tears in the corners of his eyes. It was strange. Rochelle didn’t know what she was supposed to feel. She was still tense, waiting for the impact that would come when her dad realised he’d raised a filthy queer. 

 

“And I’m… fuck,” Rochelle said, shaking and curling in on herself. Tears were leaking from her eyes, and her throat was all tied up in fear. “I can’t do it. I can’t… I can’t say it.”

 

“It’s okay,” her dad said. “I know you’re my daughter, Rochelle. And I know that you’re going to do great things in the world.”

 

And that was it. Rochelle couldn’t hold the tears back any longer, and they were cascading down her face. She was shaking, and her mouth was open in a silent cry that wouldn’t come out. She couldn’t tell her dad that she was a woman. She was too scared. He was strapped to a hospital bed, one kidney already gone and the other on it’s way, and she was still terrified of him. 

 

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m not your son, I’m not what you wanted, I know you don’t love me, please don’t hurt me, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry I’m so--”

 

She felt someone holding her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth so that she didn’t scream when she realised it was her dad. He was out of the hospital bed, and holding her in his arms like he used to do before her mom left them and he started drinking. She felt like a kid again, except that every muscle in her body was protesting this, because he wasn’t safe, he wasn’t Jon, or Spencer, and he couldn’t touch her because she didn’t trust him but she knew she was supposed to. 

 

“It’s okay, baby girl, it’s okay,” he said, his voice soft. Rochelle was crying harder, wailing now, but he just held her, gently. “You don’t have to be sorry, you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re exactly what I wanted in a child, okay? I’m so proud of you; you’re so strong, and I love you so much.”

 

Rochelle grabbed onto the hospital gown he was wearing, and finally cried out loud for the first time in years. It felt good to scream this way, instead of in anger or because she was scared. This was good screaming. This was  _ I’m gonna be okay, but first I have to relearn what that means _ screaming. Rochelle could manage that. She was not alone in her rebirth. 

  
  



	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I miss midnight by like 5 minutes? Yes. Do I hate myself for it a little? Ehh, not really. Timing is hard. 
> 
> Anyway, after like three months, here is part two of We'll See You In Cape Town! Prepare to feel every emotion.

**September 10, 2009; London, England.**

 

_ Panic! at the Disco: A Hiatus, or the End of the Band? _

 

_ Panic!’s last concert was July 22nd, 2009, just three days before guitarists Jon Walker and Rochelle Ross-Walker tied the knot in Cape Town, South Africa. At some point between the show and the wedding, someone must have left the God-damn door open, because Panic! split right in half.  _

 

_ The newly-wed couple went on to their honeymoon, not answering any questions, and Brendon Urie (vocals) and Dallon Weekes (bass) headed back to the States to do who knows what. And the drummer, Spencer Smith? Well, no one has even  _ seen _ him since the fateful night in Cape Town.  _

 

_ Fans, of course, are wondering what this means for the future of their favourite band. Is Panic! at the Disco over, after only four years and two polar opposite albums? Or are they just following in the footsteps of their forefathers, Fall Out Boy, and taking an indefinite hiatus to work on their own lives? It’s too soon to tell, but maybe if someone can find the drummer, he’ll be more willing to answer the ominous question: _

 

_ What happened in Cape Town? _

 

Spencer needed to stop looking at that article. It wasn’t going to change. It was nine days old, staring back at him from his laptop. He had to leave for work in five minutes. There were so many other things he could do other than stare at this article, but none of them seemed to matter. He wanted to respond, to log into the Facebook account he’d made back when he was still famous and in a band, and go on a rant. He wanted to tell the Goddamn journalists to shut the fuck up, and that the future of Panic! at the Disco was none of their business. 

 

Spencer’s alarm went off. He slammed his computer shut and then slammed his alarm off. He had work. He wasn’t a famous drummer anymore. He was just Spencer Smith, American cashier at a record store. 

 

He boarded the Underground and grabbed onto a pole, facing out the window of the car. There were people all around him, including an American couple and their three kids. The kids were loud, and they had a Midwest accent, and Spencer smiled to himself, thinking about Jon and Rochelle and their future. They were back in Chicago, according to Linda, and she still hung out with them. She didn’t tell them anything about Spencer except that he was doing okay, though, and Spencer wanted to keep it that way. He and Jon hadn’t ended things on a great note, and even though he loved the guy like a brother, he wasn’t ready to face him yet. 

 

He wasn’t ready to face Rochelle either, for that matter. Her text was still sitting unanswered in Spencer’s phone. She hadn’t sent anything since, and Spencer wasn’t going to push it. He was the runaway in this scenario. Rochelle could choose when she was ready to let Spencer back into her and Jon’s life. 

 

“Sir, we’re trying to get to the Tower of London,” the dad asked Spencer, holding a map out in front of Spencer’s face. He leaned back so that he could actually see it, and then scanned it for the Tower. Spencer’d been to the Tower, in 2006 with Dallon and half of TAI…, but he didn’t remember where it was. 

 

“Well, it’s over there,” Spencer said, pointing down the Thames river on the map. “So you’ll want to get off at the next station and turn around. “Take Northern down to Embankment, then switch over to the green line--or the yellow, I think they’re the same one--all the way to the Tower Hill stop. And then you should be able to find it from there.”

 

The man stared Spencer down for a moment. “You’re American?”

 

“I moved here last month, yeah,” Spencer said. 

 

“Where’re you from, then?” he asked, taking his map back and folding it up. “My family and I are here from Columbus, on a final vacation before the kids start back at school.”

 

“I’m from Las Vegas, originally, but I moved around a bit after I graduated,” Spencer said. He didn’t want to go further into his post high school adventures, because middle aged tourists didn’t take too well to finding out Spencer was a high school graduate and a former rock star. They started pulling their kids away and flaring their nostrils, like they’d be able to smell any of the drugs he’d ever done. The Underground pulled to a stop, thankfully, and Spencer smiled at the man. “Well, that’ll be your stop. Just go over to the other side of the tracks and head south, and you’ll be fine.”

 

“Thank you,” the man said. “Good luck on this side of the pond.”

 

“Have fun on your vacation,” Spencer said, waving them off. Once the doors had closed, he let his face drop back to a neutral expression and put his earbuds back in, blasting Beyonce to drown out the crowd. He just wanted to be free from his past for five minutes, but that was too much to ask, apparently. 

 

* * *

 

**February 3, 2006; Chicago, Illinois.**

 

Skating was hard. Spencer was wobbling everywhere, and Sarah was doing circles around him and Linda. Linda was refusing to let go of the wall, so at least Spencer wasn’t the most out of his element. 

 

As soon as he thought that, though, he slipped and fell on his ass. A four year old with a knit beanie and a giant purple marshmallow jacket sped past him, giggling. Spencer narrowed his eyes and scooted over to the wall on his butt. He grabbed the wall and pulled himself up, one skate threatening to slide out from under him. He tightened his grip on the wall and glared at the kid. “I hate children.”

 

“No you don’t, you just hate that one because he’s better than you,” Linda said from behind him. Spencer considered raising one hand to flip her off, but he was in a child-friendly area and he was afraid that if he let go he’d fall on his ass again. So he just stayed where he was and mentally tried to tell Linda to shush. 

 

“I’m sending this to Brendon, by the way,” Sarah said, and then Spencer heard the click of a camera. He whirled his head around, and the motion caught him off balance so that one of his feet skidded out towards the center of the rink. He looked like he was doing a really deep lunge. Sarah laughed and snapped another picture with the little camera she’d gotten for Christmas. “Or I should just put these on my MySpace page. That’d be funny.”

 

“Please don’t use my failures as a human to get popular online,” Spencer said. “Rochelle already did that and I’m tired.”

 

“Didn’t she just use your name, though?” Linda asked. 

 

Spencer drew his foot in and slowly stood up. He wished his parents hadn’t moved out of Denver so early in his life. He barely remembered how to ski, let alone stand up on skates. The movement was similar, but it wasn’t in Spencer’s muscle memory and so he was struggling. “Yeah, but still. That’s the account that links back to her old fanfiction. I don’t want to be associated with her old fanfiction. I don’t want to be associated with fanfiction in general. It’s weird.”

 

“Someone should write a fic where you fuck, like, all of Fall Out Boy,” Linda suggested, laughing. 

 

Spencer shook his head. “No. Don’t even suggest it.”

 

“It’s probably already happening,” Sarah said. She put her camera back into her jacket pocket and skated off again. Spencer didn’t understand how she was so good at it. Maybe he should have taken Jon up on those hockey lessons. It would make this experience less embarrassing, at least. 

 

“Just wait until they realise how gay your band actually is,” Linda said, scooting up beside Spencer on her skates. She was still holding onto the wall, but she was moving, which was more than Spencer could say about himself. Spencer huffed and stood up, letting go of the wall and pushing himself forward. He could do this. He’d learned how to skateboard on his own, when he was ten and Rochelle was eleven and they had nothing better to do during the summer. Spencer could figure this out. 

 

“You look like you’re about to shit yourself,” Sarah said as she skated backwards towards him and Linda. She patted Spencer on the shoulder and he tensed up, afraid of falling again. “Loosen up. Seriously, it helps.”

 

“I don’t want to hit my ass again,” Spencer said, but he shook his arms out and bent his knees anyway. He was wobbly, and he felt like he was going to fall over every second, but he was moving. He wanted to get good enough that he could give Sarah and Linda some space, since this was a date for them and Spencer was there mostly to keep their parents from getting suspicious. Spencer had no problem playing beard. He wished he had a beard, because then he’d look his age instead of coming off as fourteen, but that effect of T hadn’t kicked in yet. Spencer couldn’t wait for that. He’d go full on lumberjack, and refuse to shave ever again. 

 

Spencer skated better when he wasn’t thinking about it too much. He’d figured out how to move his legs so that he didn’t lose his balance and fall on his ass, but he wasn’t going fast and he couldn’t do anything cool. 

 

He looked over his shoulder to see Linda holding onto Sarah’s arm as Sarah led her around the rink. Spencer smiled to himself and turned around, continuing his slow pace around the rink. He’d missed those two; it was good to know that they were still happy together, and still being unashamedly gay with each other.

 

* * *

 

**September 12, 2009; London, England.**

 

Retail was boring, even in England. Spencer’d forgotten how boring it was after four years of being in a band on the road. He was restacking vinyls in the back of the store, watching a group of teenagers with brightly coloured scene hair. Three girls, one boy, and they were all skinnier than Rochelle. Spencer shook his head. He was glad that he and Rochelle had grown out of their emo phase before it became cool to dye your hair a thousand different colours. Rochelle definitely would have done that, and then she’d have become one of those scene queens, and Spencer would never hear the end of it. 

 

“Hey, uh, do you work here?” the only guy in the group asked. His hair was dyed the colour of a blue screen of death, and his bangs covered his face entirely. He also had snakebites. “Because we’re looking for, like, the original Panic! at the Disco album. Like, the one before they went all boring and hippy with that Pretty Odd shit.”

 

“Hey, Pretty Odd was a good album,” Spencer said instinctively. He didn't get it. Why the fuck did everyone hate his old band’s second album? Was it because Rochelle stopped being an angsty, pretentious teenage girl? Did these fucking kids just hate seeing Rochelle and the others happy? Was that it? 

 

“Oh, didn’t know you knew about them,” the guy said. “You don’t look very… punk.”

 

“Panic! isn’t punk,” Spencer said.  _ I would know. I was in it. _ “But yeah, we have Panic! at the Disco over in the rock section. It’s in alphabetical order.”

 

“Can you, like, show it to us?” the girl with bubblegum pink hair and raccoon stripes asked. She’d put glittery stars around her eyes, and had more facial piercings than the guy. “We, like, looked everywhere, and we couldn’t find it.”

 

Spencer groaned internally. Could no one find anything? Was this the life of a retail guy, constantly pointing out merchandise that was blatantly obvious? He took a deep breath and nodded, setting down the box he’d been going through. “Yeah, of course. Follow me.”

 

He led the four kids around to the other side of the store, where the lines of rock vinyls were all set out. There were more people over there, which was one of the reasons Spencer tried to avoid that section. The other reason was that he was afraid of getting recognised. Although, there was a lot of irony in the fact that these four kids, who were obviously Panic! fans, couldn’t recognise the drummer from their favourite band even though he was right in front of them. 

 

Maybe Spencer really didn’t look emo anymore. Maybe he’d finally changed enough that he no longer looked like a baby-faced MCR fan or whatever the fuck Pretty Odd’s aesthetic had been. 

 

Maybe he was just a regular adult now.  _ That  _ was fucking terrifying. 

 

“Here’s the P section. Panic! should be in here…” Spencer said. He started rifling through the section anyway, because he was supposed to help people. He kept his head low, hoping that everyone else over here was as blind as these four kids and that they wouldn’t realise who he was. He pulled out a copy of Fever. “Alright, here’s the CD version. We’ve got the v-- _ um _ .”

 

Spencer had turned around, only to come face to face with Mikey Way again. He was wearing those fucking sunglasses again, as well as a black and white striped hoodie with the hood pulled up over his head. A few strands of bleached hair had fallen out of the hoodie and were framing his face. The scene kids were all staring at him, entirely star-struck. For the first time since he’d interacted with them, Spencer couldn’t help but feel that they were all on the same page. 

 

“Hey,” Mikey said, finally. 

 

“What the fu--what are you doing here?” Spencer said, hissing the words out a little. Mikey Way. Was in the record store Spencer worked at. Just fucking… standing there in his fancy-ass sunglasses and his ugly-ass hoodie and. And what? What the fuck was Spencer’s life. Seriously. 

 

Mikey shrugged. “You said to come by your work if I was serious. I’m serious.”

 

“I’m in the middle of my shift,” Spencer said. He looked over at the kids. They were now all staring at him with wide eyes, but it wasn’t because they’d finally figured out that he was Spencer Smith, former drummer. No, he was just generic record store dude, friend of Mikey Fucking Way. Spencer rubbed at his face and turned back to Mikey. “Okay. Look. I know where you’re from there’s no such thing as work hours or, like, normalcy, but I have a job? I’m paid by the hour, and I don’t get off until four. So, if you wanna go do whatever it is you do when you’re not touring and come back later, that’d be great. But right now, I have to do my job or I’ll get in trouble with my boss. Kay?”

 

“Can I get your number?” Mikey asked. “In case you want to meet up somewhere else.”

 

“ _ Um _ .” Spencer had no idea how to answer that. If he wasn’t in front of a bunch of emo kids who thought he was a boring guy, he’d trade numbers like it was nothing. Spencer Smith, drummer, had a bunch of other musician’s phone numbers in his phone. Spencer Smith, record store employee, did not. “Um. Yeah. I. Sure.”

 

He and Mikey traded numbers, quietly, so that the kids wouldn’t overhear and start spreading Mikey’s number online, and then Mikey waved and walked out. Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose and turned back to the kids. He was still holding the CD in his hands. 

 

“You know Mikey Way?” the girl with white blond and black hair said, bouncing on her toes. “Holy shit, that’s so cool!”

 

“How do you even know him?” the guy asked. 

 

“I was a tech,” Spencer blurted out. “A roadie. In, like, 2005. I didn’t really talk to him that much, because he didn’t really talk. So, no, I don’t have any cool facts about him or the band to share, and I also have no idea when the next album is coming out.”

 

“So, were you on, like Warped then?” the guy asked. The three girls gasped and exchanged excited glances. “Because I totally would have gone, since it was my gap year, but my parents were like, no you have to stay here and get a boring fucking job doing boring fucking work.”

 

“I was on Warped, yeah,” Spencer said. He had no idea why he was still lying to these kids. He just hoped he remembered enough from Warped and from Rochelle’s blog posts about Warped to not fuck up. “Not the whole thing, though.”

 

“So you got to saw Petekey when it actually happened?” asked the girl with black and blonde hair. Spencer cringed for her, because he knew what Petekey was and he knew she’d regret talking about it in public in a few years. Yes, Pete and Mikey had fucked during Warped Tour, yes, half on IOH was about that summer, and no, Spencer was not allowed to talk about it. Even though he hadn’t signed a contract to keep his mouth shut, Rochelle had, and Spencer was Rochelle’s friend and he knew better. There was enough drama amongst bands as it was. Spencer wasn’t going to add to it. 

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, sorry,” Spencer said. “Anything else I can help you find?”

 

“Oh come on, of course you know what Petekey is!” the girl said, rolling her eyes. “Pete Wentz and Mikey Way? They were totally a thing. You know Mikey’s marriage isn’t real, right? He’s totally just using her so that people think he’s straight.”

 

“That’s a shitty thing to say about someone you don’t know,” Spencer said. He wasn’t sure why he was defending Mikey Way. The guy was cheating on his wife, after all. And Spencer was the person he was cheating on her with. Spencer didn’t know enough about Mikey’s personal life to know if Alicia was a beard or not. It wasn’t his business, and if sure as hell wasn’t these kids businesses, either. Spencer sighed. “Look, if you wanna get on someone’s good side, don’t go around spreading rumours about who they’re sleeping with, okay? I don’t care what you put on your MySpace, but Mikey’s a real person, just like every other musical artist out there, and you can’t… you can’t treat them like they’re your own personal entertainment. It’s not cool.”

 

“Whatever, like you know anything,” the guy said. Spencer thought he was rolling his eyes, but there was too much hair in his face to be sure. He and his friends walked away from Spencer, probably to talk shit about him, and Spencer let them go. He meandered back over to his own section, away from the music he’d grown up with and the bands he’d played with. He didn’t envy Mikey’s life, now that he’d lived it himself. Being famous sucked. It sucked even more when there were obsessed teenagers with no boundaries involved. 

 

_ You and Ry were those teenagers, you know, before you got famous _ , Spencer thought to himself. He shook his head.  _ Yeah, but it’s not like Ry ever went up to Pete and asked him if he fucked Mikey Way. We weren’t assholes, we were just fans.  _

 

Thankfully, no one else famous showed up for the rest of Spencer’s shift, and he clocked out at 4:13. He grabbed his apartment keys and his sunglasses from his locker, along with his hoodie, and tossed it on before leaving the back room. Spencer waved to his co-workers and bumped the door open with his hip. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and flipped it on, to see if Gwyn had texted him while he’d been at work. 

 

_ 2:00 pm _

_ Gwyn: spence we r out of tea can u get sum on ur way home plz thnx _

 

_ 4:00 pm _

_ Mikey Way: im at a starbucks _

_ Mikey Way: its the one by the tube station _

 

_ 4:01 pm _

_ Mikey Way: should i send u a pic?? _

 

_ 4:02 pm _

_ Mikey Way: its close to the store should i com to u _

_ Mikey Way: r u ghosting me _

 

_ 4:03 pm _

_ Mikey Way: im coming there _

 

_ 4:04 pm _

_ Mikey Way: idk why im freaking out sorry _

_ Mikey Way: ive never done this and ur hot _

 

_ 4:05 pm _

_ Mikey Way: jesus i look desperate _

 

There were more, but Spencer figured they all had the same idea behind them, so he didn’t read them and instead started walking towards the Starbucks. It was a nice Starbucks, better than most of the ones in the states, and they already knew Spencer’s coffee order. Spencer was a fan of them. He left a lot of tips. 

 

Mikey was leaned against the side of the building, smoking a cigarette and tapping his foot against the ground. He had his sunglasses on, hood up, and earbuds in, and Spencer had to tap his shoulder a few times before he looked up. Mikey pulled his earbuds out. “Shit, sorry. About the texts, I mean. I used to lose Gee all the time and--”

 

“It’s fine,” Spencer said. “My ex boyfriend used to do that whenever he drank too much coffee.”

 

“So you’ve dated guys before?” Mikey asked, following Spencer up and into the Starbucks. Spencer figured that, since he was already there, he might as well get a coffee. 

 

“No, I just like to hang out at gay bars for the ambience. Yeah, I’ve dated guys before,” Spencer said. He held the door open for Mikey, who didn’t take off his hood or sunglasses when he came in. Spencer pushed his own sunglasses up onto his forehead, hoping they didn’t mess up his hair too much. He worked hard on his hair. It was an art form, kind of. “You know, you’d get a lot less attention if you didn’t dress like you were avoiding the paps.”

 

“I got lasik about a month ago,” Mikey said. “The light hurts my eyes.”

 

“Valid,” Spencer said. “But the hood?”

 

“Old habits,” Mikey said. He reached up and pulled his hood off, revealing bleached strands of hair slicked back over his head. Spencer could easily imagine what Mikey would look like splayed out on his mattress, blonde hair tousled and his lips swollen from kissing. He looked fucking hot. He pushed his sunglasses up his nose with his knuckle. “So. Are we getting coffee or are you going to strip me with your eyes right here?”

 

“I’m not--” Spencer started, except that he was, and he had been, and maybe he’d gotten too used to people knowing his relationship status, because he was not subtle. It was okay, though, because Mikey Way was even less subtle, considering he’d come all the way to Spencer’s job and started talking about hooking up with him while there were a bunch of emo teenagers hanging around. It was almost like Mikey wanted people to know he was cheating on his wife. 

 

Spencer rubbed his face. “Jesus fucking Christ. How is this my life.”

 

“I think you’re one of those people who can blame Pete Wentz entirely for your current situation,” Mikey said, smiling a little. He had really nice teeth, which was not something Spencer noticed about people. Rochelle had a teeth thing, probably, or at least a Pete’s teeth thing, because she talked about his mouth way too often. He reached out and pressed his fingers to Spencer’s forearm, and the two of them walked up to the counter together. 

 

It felt more like a first date than two guys about to sit down and figure out to have no strings attached sex. 

 

“Caramel macchiato, grande,” Spencer said, leaning his hip against the counter. He glanced back at Mikey. “And then whatever you want?”

 

“Can I get a venti iced vanilla coffee with cream?” Mikey asked, arching an eyebrow up over his sunglasses. “And with a shot of espresso?”

 

“Coming right up,” the barista said in a thick, south London accent. Spencer handed over his credit card, purposefully ignoring Mikey in the background. Spencer was willing to do and be a lot of things, but he was no one’s sugar baby. He could pay for his own shit. He signed off on the receipt and then he and Mikey headed to the other end of the counter to wait on their drinks. Spencer could feel Mikey’s eyes on him as they waited, and he tapped his foot against the floor, looking away from Mikey. 

 

This was too surreal. Spencer was living the life of a working class guy. His legs were sore from standing all day, he just wanted a cup of coffee, but he was getting it with a famous and relevant rock star. Spencer was about to sign himself up to be Mikey Way’s dirty little gay secret, and he didn’t feel guilty about it. It was just another thing to do, now that he wasn’t in a band and he was trying to figure out how to be a normal adult man. 

 

Spencer’s life was too fucking weird. He felt like he was still seventeen and wondering what he’d do when he finished high school. 

 

“Caramel macchiato and vanilla coffee for Spencer!” the barista called out. Spencer reached out and grabbed the coffees, thanking her. 

 

He and Mikey grabbed a booth in the back of the Starbucks, because Spencer remembered how much it sucked to get noticed in public, and no one looked at the back corners anyway. He took the lid off of his coffee and swirled the straw around to mix in the caramel. “So, what’s the plan, Mikey Way?”

 

“I was gonna let you decide,” Mikey said. “Since I’m the famous married guy in this setup, and you didn’t seem interested in getting drunk and fucking in a club bathroom.”

 

“I’ve done that before. It’s not as glamourous as it seems,” Spencer said, thinking about the times that he’d been out with Panic! at some club and he ended up in a corner or out back with Brendon and Dallon. It was hard to pull off a public quickie with two other people. “Besides, I have a nice mattress. I’d like to actually use it for once.”

 

Mikey smiled at that. 

 

Spencer set his coffee down. “You know who I am, right? I don’t mean that in a pretentious way, I just… we’re kind of equal when it comes to the whole famous person thing. So I’m not going to flip out if you randomly decide to end this and fuck back off to LA or Jersey or wherever you’re living.”

 

“I’m aware, I just didn’t want to make a big deal about it,” Mikey said. He spun his straw around in his coffee. “You look good, by the way. Different from when you were in the band, but good. Really good.”

 

“You don’t have to flatter me, you’ve already got my number,” Spencer said, motioning to Mikey’s pockets. He didn’t know where the guy kept his phone when he wasn’t using it. He didn’t know a lot about Mikey, which was strange considering he’d once been a huge fan of Mikey’s band. It was weird, sitting here with Mikey Way. Five years ago, if someone had come up to Spencer and told him that Mikey Way would want to bang him in the future, he wouldn’t have believed them. Then again, five years ago, Spencer was living in an apartment in Chicago, scared out of his mind and hoping for a future. 

 

Five years ago, Spencer would have never imagined ending up here. 

 

“I don’t want you to think you’re like, some kind of fuck toy for me, or anything,” Mikey said. “But I’m also not trying to date you. I just want casual sex, and to not have to worry about you posting about how you’re fucking the guy from My Chem online.”

 

“I can do that,” Spencer said. “One condition, though. You have to meet my roommate, and let her know what’s going on.”

 

Mikey frowned. “Does she know about…?”

 

“Nah, she’s into weird music,” Spencer said, waving his hand. “Super obscure stuff, she probably wouldn’t recognise Panic! if I played it for her. But I want you guys to meet now, instead of at five in the morning when you’re half naked and leaving the flat.”

 

“Oh, yeah, that’s totally doable,” Mikey said. He looked relieved. Spencer felt relieved, and a little excited. There was still a part of him that was sixteen years old with a poster of Pete Wentz on his ceiling. 

 

* * *

 

**February 14, 2006; Norfolk, Virginia.**

 

Panic! was back on the road again, still living in the Brobecks van and sitting practically on top of each other. Spencer was in the back with Brendon and Rochelle. Jon was driving, and Dallon was in the passenger seat, flipping though a map booklet they’d picked up at a truck stop about a day ago. Brendon was asleep against Spencer’s chest, and Ryan and Spencer had quietly been playing roadtrip games to keep themselves from being bored. 

 

Road trips were annoying, it turned out. Spencer wanted to be somewhere where he wasn’t moving, and didn’t have to sleep sitting up. 

 

It was cold as shit in Virginia, too, and there was snow on the ground. Jon was still wearing flip flops and a t-shirt, but that was because he was Jon and he didn’t get affected by temperatures. Brendon had his winter jacket spread out over himself and Spencer, and Spencer was still a little cold. 

 

“Do you think the heater’s broken?” Spencer asked when Rochelle pulled her legs up under her own jacket. 

 

“It’s fine, you guys just aren’t used to the cold,” Jon said. He reached over and turned the heat up a notch anyway. Spencer appreciated that. He couldn’t play drums if he couldn’t feel his fingers. 

 

“At least Salt Lake was a dry cold,” Dallon said. “This is fucking miserable. How do people live like this?”

 

“I can feel it in my bones,” Rochelle said. Her voice was muffled by the fake fur that lined the hood of her jacket. “I’m fucking  _ damp _ , somehow. I never want to see snow again.”

 

“You guys lived in Chicago for a year!” Jon exclaimed, throwing one hand up in the air. “How is this worse? It’s maybe twenty-eight degrees out there, that’s  _ nothing _ .”

 

“Jon,” Spencer said. “You’re not human if you think twenty-eight degrees is nothing.”

 

“It’s barely below freezing,” Jon said. Yes, because that made such a difference. Honestly, in Spencer’s mind, anything under forty-five was too cold. There wasn’t much of a difference between freezing and twenty-eight; they both were too fucking cold. Spencer had been born out in Denver, but he’d left before he could develop whatever weird powers Jon had. Spencer didn’t fare well in the cold. He wasn’t sure how he’d survived the winter in Chicago. Probably with coffee and the looming fear of failure. 

 

Jon pulled off the highway, and Dallon booted up the GPS so that they could get to the venue. Jon glanced back at the three people in the back seats. “Hey, at least we’re headed south. Florida never gets cold.”

 

“We’re going to a beach in the middle of February,” Rochelle mumbled. “Who plans these things?”

 

“Pete Wentz, probably,” Dallon said. They glanced over their shoulder at Spencer. “Spence, you should probably wake up our lead singer. We’re going to need him.”

 

Spencer nodded, and pulled his arm out from under Brendon to shake his shoulder gently. Brendon muttered something under his breath and snuggled closer to Spencer. It was cute, but Brendon was still asleep and they needed him for the show. Brendon wasn’t as good on stage if he was groggy. Spencer shook Brendon’s shoulder harder. “Bren, wake up, we’re almost there.”

 

“No,” Brendon said softly, and pulled his jacket up over his head. 

 

Rochelle and Spencer both rolled their eyes. Spencer lifted his hands and Rochelle reached out from under her own jacket and pulled Brendon’s off of him. Brendon squeaked, jerking upright and scrambling for something warm, and the whole van laughed. Brendon flipped them all off, and Rochelle handed him his jacket back. She shrugged. “It worked.”

 

“I hate all of you,” Brendon said, putting the jacket on and flipping his hood up. “I’m quitting the band and starting my own solo project and I won’t give any of you credit for anything I do. Ever.”

 

“Sure, Brendon,” Spencer said, ruffling his hair. 

 

Brendon slumped down and leaned into Spencer’s touch. “Okay, fine. I love you guys too much. But I call first shower whenever we get to use one.”

 

“That’s fair,” Jon said. Of the five of them, Brendon liked showering the most. Spencer didn’t mind getting gritty, now that he wasn’t wearing a binder all the time and his hair was short enough to just wash in a sink. Rochelle had always been low maintenance when it came to showering. None of them were too disgusting, but the van tended to smell vaguely of teenage boy after they’d been on the road for too long. 

 

The show that night was indoors, which was both a blessing and a curse. It meant that they weren’t all freezing between sets or trying to play out in the cold of February, but indoor venues got fucking hot. Spencer was sure that he and Brendon could wring out their shirts by the end of the show, and have enough sweat come off to fill a small cup. It was gross. Spencer really wanted a shower, but there wasn’t time, and they had to get all the way down to Myrtle Beach. 

 

“Weekes in the back, Walker in the front,” Jon said, tossing the keys over the hood of the van. Rochelle caught them, staring up at Jon like he’d lost his mind. Jon shrugged. “We’re all tired, it’s mushy, and you’re the safest driver in the band. You’re driving.”

 

“I hate driving at night,” Rochelle said. 

 

“I’ll do it,” Brendon offered, and Rochelle shoved the keys at him as fast as she could. She, Jon, and Spencer ended up in the back, with Dallon sitting up front with Brendon. Brendon stopped at a gas station and came back with a large coffee, and then turned up Guns and Roses as he turned back onto the highway and headed south. 

 

Jon pulled out the can of Febreeze that they’d all been using as deodorant for a few days and shook it before spraying it around. Rochelle waved at the air in front of her face and coughed before leaning around in front of Brendon and rolling the back windows down a few inches to let in some air. Spencer reached for the bottle and sprayed it directly at his chest, because even though they’d all changed out of their show clothes and sprayed those down as well, Spencer still felt gross. 

 

“I want a shower,” he said, handing the Febreeze back to Jon. 

 

Jon put the cap on and propped his feet up. “You can swim in the ocean when we get there.”

 

“That’s gonna be a really cold shower,” Dallon said. They picked up Brendon’s coffee and took a small sip from it. “Happy Valentine’s Day, by the way.”

 

“Ah, forgot about that,” Brendon said. He glanced back at Spencer through the rearview mirror. “Does that make me a bad boyfriend?”

 

“Dallon’s the only one who remembered,” Rochelle said. “So no, I think you’re fine.”

 

“I was late, too,” Dallon said. They pointed at the clock on the dashboard, which was lit up in a dull green colour. “Valentine’s Day ended about an hour ago.”

 

“Time isn’t real, we can just celebrate whenever we get a day off,” Jon said. 

 

“Good plan,” Spencer said, nodding in agreement. He’d never cared much about Valentine’s Day. Last year, they’d all been so wrapped up in getting the album together that he hadn’t had time to really think about it, and every year before that, he’d been single. He leaned his head against the window, feeling the cold air coming in from outside, and looked at Dallon and Brendon. It felt too soon, but he thought he might be in love with both of them. 

 

_ What if we don’t make it? _ a cruel, negative corner of Spencer’s brain whispered to him.  _ I mean, how many three-way relationships can you think of? None, right? And on top of that, we’re all gay. And I’m trans, too, so what if they don’t want me because of that? What if I get ugly, or my body gets too weird, and they don’t want to be around me anymore? _

 

“I know we’re all in a van together and we all smell like shit, but Spence? Dal? I love the living shit out of both of you,” Brendon said, suddenly. “In a gay way.”

 

“I love you two in a gay way too,” Dallon said. Spencer could hear the smile in their voice. 

 

“Aw,” Rochelle said, and not-so-subtly kicked Spencer’s shin like he was a soccer ball and she was kicking a penalty. 

 

“Fuck, ow,” Spencer said, pulling his leg back. “I love you guys too--Jesus, Ry, I was gonna say it, you didn’t have to fucking kick me.”

 

“She kicked you?” Brendon said, laughing. 

 

Rochelle shrugged. “Talk faster next time.”

 

* * *

 

**September 21, 2009; London, England.**

 

Mikey Way was quiet in bed, almost to the point that Spencer worried he just fucking sucked at having sex. He was also trans, but that wasn’t a big deal for either of them because Mikey had taken one look at the faded scars under Spencer’s nipples, nodded, and said, “so you get it, then?” before taking his own shirt off and revealing scars of his own. Mikey had a dick, though, with angry red scars showing where it had been attached, and smooth skin. Mikey also liked having his ass eaten, and that was something Spencer could do. 

 

He didn’t think about Brendon and how he’d whine for Spencer to touch him, or how good Dallon’s legs used to feel wrapped around Spencer. He just watched Mikey’s shoulders tense and his muscles ripple under his skin as Spencer tongue-fucked him. 

 

Spencer also fuck-fucked him, but he did that with Mikey on his back. The silence was too unnerving without seeing Mikey’s face. Mikey’s nails were longer than Brendon’s or Dallon’s, and he liked to hold onto Spencer’s hips when he fucked him. Mikey drew blood, right below Spencer’s hipbone, and Spencer sunk his teeth into the meat of Mikey’s shoulder to muffle his own moan. He didn’t know he was into that. 

 

Mikey squeaked when he came, hot against Spencer’s stomach. Spencer pulled out, his thighs and arms shaking, and slowly took off his strap-on. He barely had time to set it, and the harness, down on the side of the bend before Mikey grabbed him and pulled him back down, kissing him violently. Mikey Way did not understand the concept of gentle sex, but that was okay, because Spencer didn’t like gentle sex. 

 

He pushed Mikey down under him, so that Mikey’s chin was under Spencer’s crotch. Mikey ran his hands up Spencer’s thighs, fingernails scraping gently against the skin. Spencer let out a sharp breath when Mikey scratched against the open scrape he’d caused earlier. 

 

“Fuck, Mikey, use your mouth for something other than biting you own lip,” Spencer said. He was better at dirty talk when he had something to work off of. Mikey’s sexual interest was all in his face, and Spencer wasn’t always looking at his face. 

 

Mikey grinned, and pulled Spencer down on top of him. Spencer groaned as Mikey took him into his mouth, swirling his tongue around Spencer’s dick and lapping at the sensitive skin there. Mikey’s wife must love having sex with Mikey, if this was how he went down on people. It was wet, sloppy, and really, really good. Spencer grabbed onto Mikey’s hair, pulling on it as Mikey moved his hands around to grab at Spencer’s ass. He pulled away from Spencer’s dick and sucked down on two of his fingers. Spencer couldn’t take his eyes off Mikey. This was actually happening. Mikey Way was giving him a fucking blowjob. 

 

Mikey winked up at Spencer, and Spencer pushed his face back towards his dick. Mikey went willingly, licking across the slit. He moved his hands back around to Spencer’s ass, pulling his cheeks apart and gently pressing one finger up into Spencer’s hole. Spencer bit down on his lip so he didn’t make any embarrassing noises as Mikey fingered him. His fingers were fucking long, and it’d been a while since Spencer had anything up his ass. He was usually the one doing the fucking, not the one getting fucked. 

 

Spencer jerked forward as Mikey hit a good spot, and moaned through his orgasm. His hand was still tight in Mikey’s hair, his other one clutching a pillow. Spencer kept his eyes closed for a moment, loosening his grip on Mikey and the pillow, and listened to the sound of his own body for a moment. He was panting, chest moving up and down as he tried to replace all the oxygen in his lungs, and his heart was thumping up against his ribs. Everything felt like it had been hit with a taser. 

 

Mikey ran his hand up the side of Spencer’s thigh. “Any time you wanna get off my face, that’d be nice. I mean, I’m not complaining about the view… I just don’t know how comfortable you are up there.”

 

“Fuck, sorry,” Spencer said, and got off of Mikey. He sat down beside him, leaning against the wall and feeling the cool paint and plaster under his back. “Do you want to take first shower?”

 

“Is it okay if I smoke in here, or should I open the window?” Mikey asked. He didn’t look like he was going to move any time soon. Spencer sighed and glanced over at the windows, which had been closed to keep the late afternoon sun out. His room looked out over the backyards of a bunch of different apartments, and to the back of a few restaurants and shops around the block. No one really looked back there. Spencer nodded; Mikey could open a window and smoke if he wanted to. 

 

“Do you want one?” Mikey offered, finally starting to sit up. 

 

“I’m good,” Spencer said. “I’m not much of a smoker.”

 

Not much of a cigarette smoker, that was. Weed was an entirely different thing. Weed and fancy alcohol that made Spencer feel like he was some obnoxious rich person was a great conversation, but he didn’t mention that to Mikey because he didn’t want Mikey to think that he really was the stoner stereotype everyone assumed Panic! had been. They were all right, of course, because there wasn’t much else to do on a bus than get stoned and avoid talking about how everything was crumbling apart, but Spencer didn’t want to admit it. Especially to Mikey Way. 

 

He took a shower, scrubbing down his body and washing his hair. Spencer’s shampoo smelled like roses, which was awesome because he’d never really been into manly smelling shampoos. It had helped with the dysphoria, back when people would look at Spencer for a good minute or two, trying to figure out if he was a boy or a girl. Spencer was past that now, with a deep voice and a beard and the body of a man to prove it. No one would look at him and think he was a woman now, which meant he could go back to using shampoo that smelled good, instead of manly. 

 

Fuck manly shampoo, honestly. It all smelled boring. 

 

Mikey was wearing boxers and a bedsheet and sitting on the windowsill smoking when Spencer came out of the shower. He had the window open and his sunglasses were back on, but he looked over at Spencer when Spencer closed the door behind himself. “Why’d you put clothes on?”

 

“I have a roommate?” Spencer said, raising an eyebrow. “Pretty sure she doesn’t want to see my naked ass running around the flat.”

 

“Weird. Gee and I never cared about that, or any of the other guys in the band,” Mikey said. He put out his cigarette. “Then again, we didn’t get naked much, or shower that often. We’re kind of gross on tour.”

 

“Everyone’s gross on tour,” Spencer said. It’d gotten easier once they got a bus, but there were still five of them, plus the tech crew, and only one small shower. The sink in the kitchenette on the bus got used a lot more than the shower. “I think it’s part of the experience.”

 

* * *

 

**February 15, 2006. Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.**

 

The beach at night was like entering an alternate universe. When Spencer looked up at the sky, he could see every star, and when he looked out at the ocean, he could see where the stars faded into the horizon, but he couldn’t see the ocean past where the waves were breaking. He was barefoot, with his toes squeezing the soft sand as he walked beside Brendon. Dallon was the closest to the land, with Brendon in the middle and Spencer closer to the water. It was distracting. He kept thinking about what was out there, on the other side, where it was too dark to see anything. 

 

Spencer knew, of course, that England and Europe were on the other side of the Atlantic. He’d been there, too, so it wasn’t a huge mystery. But still. It felt like the darkness of the sea was calling to him, begging him to ask questions he hadn’t thought about yet. 

 

“How far are we walking?” Dallon asked. The three of them had left the rest of the tour crew behind at the little bonfire they’d created. It had been Brendon’s idea, because he always wanted to explore the sea at night, and this was the closest he’d get for a while. 

 

Brendon paused, turning around to look back down the beach. The bonfire was a small orange dot in the distance, and Spencer could faintly hear people laughing and talking. There weren’t any houses out here, either. It was just Spencer, Brendon, Dallon, and the sea. And the sea didn’t seem like the type to kiss and tell. Brendon looked up at the moon. “I guess we can stop here. I just wanted privacy.”

 

“For what?” Spencer asked. No one on the tour crew had an issue with the three of them dating each other. Some of them thought it was a little weird that three people were dating and there weren't any issues, but no one was telling Spencer, Dallon, and Brendon to act like they weren't a gay, polyamorous trio. 

 

Dallon raised an eyebrow. “We're not having sex on the beach.”

 

“Aw, come on!” Brendon said, pouring. “It's an experience, Dal! When are we ever going to have this opportunity again?”

 

“In June, maybe, when it's not so cold,” Spencer said. He was thinking less about all the places sand could get into and more about how cold it would be once they were all naked. The sand was cold enough around his feet, and he was starting to lose feeling in his toes. “This isn't our last tour or anything; we're still going to be a band in the summer.”

 

“But it's Valentine's Week, and we're at a beach, and it's like, the perfect setting,” Brendon said. As if he was trying to convince them further, he unzipped his hoodie and pulled his t-shirt over his head. Shivers rippled down his torso, and he wrapped his arms around himself. “Okay. So it's a little cold. But if we're all close, then maybe we can be like penguins and stay warm by sharing each other's body heat.”

 

Spencer and Dallon looked at each other. While Spencer wasn't too keen on getting naked on a beach in February, there were three of them and it definitely would be an experience. He shrugged. “Hey, why not? You only live once, and all that.”

 

Brendon grinned, and stepped forward, kissing Spencer. Spencer kissed back, dropping his hands down to Brendon's waist and grinning when Brendon shivered and let out a gasp. Brendon pulled back and flicked Spencer on the cheek. “Shut up. Your hands are cold.”

 

“Mine are colder,” Dallon said. Without any other warning, they placed one hand on Brendon's lower back and the other up under Spencer's shirt. Both boys screamed a little, because the tips of Dallon's fingers felt like ice. Spencer grabbed Dallon's hand by the wrist and pulled them back, before leaning up to kiss at their neck. They were all still standing up, and Brendon was the only one without a shirt. Dallon turned their head to kiss Brendon as Spencer continued to kiss at their neck. “Maybe you're right. This isn't a bad idea.”

 

“You just have a thing for Spencer's mouth,” Brendon said. His words were muffled, and when Spencer glanced over, the two of them were making out, Brendon's eyelashes fluttering as his hands pawed at Dallon's chest. Spencer turned his head and stole a kiss from Brendon, tasting Dallon on his lips and loving it. It shouldn’t have worked so well, the three of them all going for each other at once, but it did and Spencer couldn’t imagine himself anywhere else, with anyone else, and feeling this way. 

 

He let Dallon tug his shirt off over his head. “Who doesn’t love my mouth? It’s all in the tongue, baby.”

 

“I will throw you into the ocean,” Dallon said, and kissed Spencer’s shoulder tenderly. Brendon laughed and grabbed at Dallon, pulling their shirt off and then pulling them down onto the sand. Spencer dropped down as well, with one hand in the sand and the other pressed down against Brendon’s thigh, holding him in place. Dallon dropped down to Brendon’s crotch. They kissed Spencer’s knuckles before resting their chin on Brendon’s belt buckle. “Well, you brought us down here. What’s the plan?”

 

“You fuck me and I eat Spencer out?” Brendon asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

 

“With what lube?” Spencer asked. Naturally, Brendon thrust his hips up and pulled a little packet of lube out of his back pocket. They’d stopped using condoms all the time, since it was just the three of them and they were all clean. Brendon wiggled the packet in the air, and Spencer shook his head. “Somehow, I’m not that surprised.”

 

“I’m like a Boy Scout,” Brendon said. “Always be prepared.”

 

“Pretty sure that’s not what they meant,” Dallon said. They sat back on their knees and undid Brendon’s belt, tossing it over to where their shirts and Brendon’s hoodie were sitting in a sandy pile. Dallon looked up at Spencer through their eyelashes. “Are you going to sit on his face or…?”

 

“Hands and knees?” Spencer asked. Brendon nodded, and pushed his pants down to his thighs before flipping over so that he was on his knees. He wasn’t wearing any underwear, and he had the packet of lube in his mouth. Spencer moved around so that he was facing Brendon, and took his face into his hands. He rubbed his thumbs against Brendon’s cheeks, feeling the uneven stubble from the beard Brendon was slowly being able to grow. Brendon parted his lips, and Spencer leaned in to kiss him, taking his time, sucking at Brendon’s lip and making him moan. 

 

“Oh, fuck,” Brendon hissed out against Spencer’s lips. Spencer pulled back and looked over Brendon’s shoulder to see Dallon pressing two fingers into Brendon. Brendon gasped as Dallon fingered him, and Spencer pulled Brendon up again to kiss him. Brendon’s mouth trailed down Spencer’s jaw, to his neck, his shoulders, licking across his chest and nipping at the soft skin of his stomach. Spencer threaded his hands through Brendon’s hair as Brendon nosed against his stomach. Brendon fumbled with Spencer’s pants, and Spencer bit back a moan because, seriously, his pants were not that complicated to get off. 

 

Finally, though, Brendon got Spencer’s pants undone, and slid them down to his thighs along with his boxers. Spencer shivered. The cold air on his dick was not a great feeling. He held onto Brendon’s head as Brendon mouthed at his dick through his underwear. Brendon moaned as Dallon thrust into him, and Dallon reached out over Brendon to hold Spencer’s wrist with one hand as they held Brendon’s hip with the other. 

 

Spencer shoved his underwear down, since Brendon was too busy getting fucked to do it himself. He pulled Brendon back, digging his nails into Brendon’s shoulder when Brendon took him into his mouth. Brendon used a lot of tongue, which Spencer was very cool with, but he also kept hitting Spencer with his face. Spencer bit his lip and leaned forward, carefully pulling Dallon down towards him so that he could kiss them. 

 

Dallon reached under Brendon and grabbed his cock, stroking him as they fucked him. Brendon reached up with one hand and cupped Spencer’s ass cheek, holding him close to his mouth so that he could eat Spencer out properly. Brendon lapped at the underside of Spencer’s dick, and Spencer moaned, his legs nearly giving out under him. It’d been too long since the three of them had been able to have real, actual sex with each other. Spencer slammed his hand down onto Brendon’s back to steady himself, and Brendon let out a small “eep.” 

 

Brendon looked up at Spencer. “Maybe you should, like, lay on your back.”

 

“No fucking way,” Spencer said. 

 

Dallon raised their eyebrows. “It might make this easier, and then Brendon wouldn’t have to balance so much.”

 

Spencer shook his head. “I’m not getting sand in my ass.”

 

“Well, if this goes horribly wrong, we can blame you,” Dallon said. They leaned forward and kissed Spencer again, biting at his lower lip. Under them, Brendon let out a long moan at the change of angle, and pulled Spencer’s hips forward so he could go back to eating him out. 

 

Spencer fumbled around for Brendon’s dick, running his thumb over the slit and feeling how much Brendon was already leaking. He tugged at Dallon’s hair and Dallon groaned, biting Spencer’s lip as they thrust into Brendon. Spencer moaned into Dallon’s mouth and squeezed Brendon’s dick as he came, his body shuddering and the sand shifting under his knees. Brendon licked across Spencer’s crotch before slowly pulling himself up and getting between Dallon and Spencer’s kiss. Spencer kissed Brendon as he jerked him off, and Dallon nibbled at Brendon’s shoulder. 

 

Brendon let out a squeak and came over Spencer’s hand, and Dallon let out a groan as they came inside Brendon. Spencer sat back on his heels, wiping his hand off in the sand. It didn’t work, and now Spencer’s hand was covered in sand and cum, and it was a really gross texture. 

 

“I feel gross,” Brendon said, making a face. 

 

“The ocean is right there, and we’re almost naked already,” Dallon said. Spencer nodded. The water would be cold, but at least he wouldn’t have sand and cum all over himself. The three of them stripped completely and bundled their clothes into a little pile, and then headed towards the sea. 

 

It was fucking cold. Brendon let out a screech that echoed, and Dallon kept coming up with new swears to hiss out as they moved further into the waves. Spencer shivered violently and took a deep breath. The water came up to his thighs, with the waves crashing up onto his stomach. He wanted to get it all over with, but he didn’t want to get hypothermia and die. 

 

“This is like when you decided to swim in your parents’ pool on New Year’s,” Brendon said, his teeth chattering between every word. 

 

“No, this is worse,” Spencer said. He squeezed his eyes shut and dropped down into the water so that his whole body was submerged. It felt like he’d jumped into a giant bowl of ice. He shot back up immediately, gasping for breath and shuddering from the cold. His hair was slicked down over his eyes, but he wouldn’t have been able to see anyway because it was so dark out. Spencer pressed his thighs together, hoping to feel something other than bitter coldness. “Fuck, nope, bad idea, bad idea-- _ Jesus fucking Christ that is cold _ !”

 

Dallon was laughing, and Spencer was too cold to splash them. He flipped Dallon off and started making his way back out of the water and towards their clothes. That had been a bad idea. They should have just dealt with being gross until they got into the hotel room and then showered like normal people. Spencer was shivering too much to even grab his clothes, and the breeze didn’t help either. 

 

It took a while, but eventually Spencer did warm up enough to get dressed, and by that time Dallon and Brendon were coming out of the water and shivering into their clothes as well. Spencer kissed them both and wished them good luck, but he wasn’t going to hang out in the cold while his partners put their clothes on. There was a bonfire waiting back down the beach, and Spencer was ready for it. 

 

Rochelle gave him a knowing look when he showed back up in dry-ish clothes and soaked hair, but didn’t say anything to him about it. Just, “you didn’t drown them, did you?”

 

“Nah, Dallon and Brendon are coming back, don’t worry,” Spencer said. He grabbed one of the blankets and wrapped it around his shoulders and head like he was a Russian grandmother. 

 

“Good, because it would kind of suck if we lost our bassist  _ and _ our lead singer,” Rochelle said. Spencer nodded. Rochelle and Jon could both sing, but the band wouldn’t be Panic! at the Disco without Brendon’s voice or Dallon’s bass. They were all important to how the band sounded. 

 

* * *

 

**October 1, 2009; London, England.**

 

_ Panic! at the Disco Talk “Jennifer’s Body” Song, Plans for New LP _

 

The article was a few months old, but it was from Rolling Stone and Spencer had heard enough scene kids talking about his old band making a new record that he had to see for himself. Sure enough, the article was real, and the song was real, and there was a music video for it where Dallon and Brendon dressed up in cheap suits and walked through a high school before getting mobbed at the end. 

 

They both looked really good, which pissed Spencer off a little. What pissed him off more was the fact that they were still calling themselves Panic!, even though Panic! had always been the five of them and never just a duo. It wasn’t supposed to be a duo, and Spencer didn’t like that Brendon and Dallon were running with it. 

 

He rubbed his temples. Whatever. Spencer had been the first to leave, so at this point, there wasn’t anything he could do about the situation. 

 

_ In addition to this tune, Urie and Smith have been prepping demos with hopes to record later this fall and have a new album out early next year. _

 

Spencer opened up Skype and called Linda. It was three in the morning in London, which meant that it was nine in the evening over there. Linda would be awake. She’d probably be in the middle of some assignment, but at least Spencer wouldn’t be waking her up. Linda didn’t get enough sleep, between working and finishing her senior thesis and TA-ing for an intro level English class. Spencer wasn’t going to be a dick and mess with her sleep schedule if he could help it. 

 

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Linda asked as soon as her pixelated face showed up on Spencer’s laptop screen. 

 

“I don’t have work tomorrow,” Spencer said. “And I was gonna go run anyway.”

 

“So why are you calling me then?” Linda asked, but she didn’t seem upset that Spencer was calling her. She was his only connection back to the States, other than his parents and his two sisters. Spencer had cut off contact with everyone else. 

 

“Do you know anything about  _ Jennifer’s Body _ ?” Spencer asked. He clicked back over to the article, with Linda’s face now small and in the bottom corner of his screen. 

 

Linda sighed. “I mean, at least they didn’t write a song calling you a whore.”

 

“Yeah, but… Panic! isn’t just their band,” Spencer said. He tapped his fingers against the side of his laptop. “It doesn’t feel right.”

 

“It’s not just your band either,” Linda said. Spencer put her back on full screen. “If it makes you feel better, I hung out with Jon and Rochelle a few weeks ago and they agree with you. There’s nothing wrong with Dallon and Brendon making new music, but I think everyone else expected Panic! at the Disco to be over.”

 

“Like Fall Out Boy over or…?” Spencer asked, because he wasn’t sure how the world saw the split. For Spencer, it felt pretty final, like there was no coming back or being a band again. Too much shit had hit the fan, and everyone was going to blame each other and everyone was going to be right. “Because I don’t think we’ll ever be a band again.”

 

Linda frowned. “Do you think you’ll ever be friends again, even if you can’t make music together?”

 

Spencer shrugged. He didn’t have an answer for her. He didn’t know if they could. Cape Town had hurt them all, and Spencer was starting to think that there were just some wounds that time couldn’t heal.

 

* * *

 

**February 28, 2006; Phoenix, Arizona.**

 

Phoenix was hot, even in February. It was weird to be walking around in jeans and a t-shirt when they’d all been bundled up in jackets just days before. Phoenix was also really pretty, aside from all the urban shit. It reminded Spencer of Vegas and Chicago at the same time, and he didn’t mind wandering around the city with Jon while Brendon, Rochelle, and Dallon dealt with a venue issue. 

 

Jon, of course, was wearing flip flops. The two of them had found a nearby park and were wandering around, acting like regular Phoenix citisens. 

 

“Oh hey, there’s a little theme park,” Jon pointed out. Sure enough, across the footbridge, there were some kiddy rides and a ferris wheel set up. Spencer could hear the carnival music playing and a few kids laughing. He figured that, like Vegas, it never got cold, the park could keep the rides open all year long. It was kind of awesome. Jon grinned up at Spencer. “Wanna win me a stuffed bear?”

 

“Don’t you have a girlfriend for that?” Spencer asked, but he was already fishing out his wallet to see how much cash he had on him. Spencer tried to keep cash in his wallet at all times, because Rochelle was too caught up in her own head to remember where hers was, Brendon was banned from carrying more than 20 dollars because he’d impulsively buy everything he saw, Jon didn’t have a wallet, and Dallon refused to spend money unless absolutely necessary. Sure enough, Spencer had about eighty bucks in his wallet, which meant they’d be able to get in. He grinned back at Jon. “Let’s do it.”

 

“Fuck yeah,” Jon said, and looped his arm through Spencer’s before dragging him over to the entrance. Spencer went willingly, pulling ahead of Jon and fumbling to get his wallet open as they came to the man at the gate. Jon grabbed a twenty from Spencer. “Two tickets, please.”

 

“They’re ten dollars each for adults,” the man said. He glanced over at Spencer. “How old are you, son?”

 

“I’ll be nineteen in the fall,” Spencer said, because he knew he had a baby face and it was annoying. He couldn’t wait until the fun part of the T kicked in and he could start growing a beard. 

 

“You don’t look it,” the man said. He pulled two tickets out from behind the counter. “You’re not gonna appreciate that now, but in a few years, you’ll love looking young.”

 

Spencer smiled and nodded, because he’d been told that so many times before, but it still didn’t feel true. Spencer didn’t want to look young, he wanted to look like a man. At least his voice was dropping, and he didn’t have to growl out his words for anyone to think he was a guy. 

 

He and Jon went on the whirly ride first, grabbing a pod just to themselves. They were the only people here without kids, but that didn’t stop either of them for having a good fucking time. Spencer checked his phone before they got in line for a carnival game, just to make sure that they weren’t late for soundcheck or anything. He didn’t have any missed calls from anyone of importance. Linda had texted him about birthday ideas for Sarah, but that could wait until Spencer was back in the Brobecks van and they were on the road again. 

 

“Oh my God it’s Panic! at the Disco!” Someone screeched from behind Spencer and Jon. Jon muttered “ _ fuck _ ” under his breath and turned around slowly. There were two teenage girls, probably not much younger than Spencer, and they were wearing Fall Out Boy shirts. They squealed when they noticed that Spencer and Jon had noticed them, and the first one ran up to Spencer, bouncing on her Converse-clad feet. “Oh my God, we’re seeing you tonight! That’s so cool! I can’t believe you’re real!”

 

“What are you guys doing here?” the other asked, coming up behind her friend. She gasped. “Are the others here too? Omg, I love Brendon, he’s my favourite! Not that you two aren’t awesome too, but Brendon’s so cute!”

 

“Ehh, he’s alright,” Jon said, elbowing Spencer and holding back his laughter. 

 

“Is it true that Brendon’s gay?” the first asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Because Cate thinks she’s gonna date him, but I heard from Audrey Kitching, who heard from Rochelle herself that Brendon’s gay.”

 

“He’s bisexual, but he’s also dating Dallon and I,” Spencer said. “Sorry.”

 

The second girl, Cate, waved her hand. “It’s cool. You’re so lucky, though, because I’d, like, kill to date Brendon. But whatever, you guys are cute as a couple. Or trio? Are you guys a trio?”

 

“I guess?” Spencer said, looking over at Jon. Jon shrugged, because it wasn’t Jon’s relationship and therefore wasn’t something he had to be too concerned about. Jon was lucky; even though he and Rochelle were both bisexual, they looked like a boring straight couple and so no one asked them weird questions. There was the occasional interviewer who’d ask about Rochelle being trans, but the band was so tight knit and ready to defend each other that that rarely happened. 

 

“Can we get a picture?” Cate asked, holding up her little camera. Jon and Spencer nodded, and grabbed a nearby unsuspecting victim to be the cameraman so that the four of them could pose. Spencer didn’t mind taking pictures with fans. It was actually fun, because a lot of them were creative with poses, and Spencer hadn’t been famous long enough to get annoyed with people. Everything was new, and he was often as excited as the teenage girls who asked for photos or signatures. 

 

As the girls hugged Jon and Spencer and then left to continue their day at the amusement park, Jon turned to Spencer and said, “I can’t believe that was us, like, a year ago.”

 

“We weren’t teenage girls a year ago,” Spencer said. 

 

“I know that, I meant that a year ago, if we’d seen Pete or William or pretty much anyone we hang out with now, we would have flipped out,” Jon said. He walked up to a fair game and handed over a few coins before handing Spencer the ball to try and knock the pins down. “Respectfully, of course. It’s just really weird. I’ve been in bands before, and opened for bands way cooler than I was, but it’s never been like this. No one came up to me in Chicago and asked for a picture.”

 

“It’s because Panic! is magic,” Spencer said, and hurled the ball past Jon’s head, knocking down all but one of the pins. “We’re unstoppable, the five of us. Can I get the giant black lab, please?”

 

Jon laughed, and the man behind the counter frowned and took the stuffed animal off the top shelf. Jon held onto it, since Spencer had the better arms, and the two continued around the fair. It was awesome, and Spencer won himself and Jon two really ugly hats as well as a giant pool noodle that neither of them knew what to do with. 

 

They ended up being late to soundcheck, and Rochelle took Jon’s hat because she was his girlfriend and they all knew she’d give it back later. Rochelle had a strange sense of fashion, but giant blue felt hats weren’t a part of it. 

 

“Do we get to share the dog?” Brendon whispered between sets. The dog, which they’d decided to name Pete Four (after Pete Wentz the third, of course), was sitting on the side of the stage with TAI… and watching their set. Spencer nodded. He’d chosen the dog partially for himself, but also because he knew that Brendon really wanted a dog even though it wasn’t practical since they were on tour from now until forever. Brendon grinned and kissed Spencer quickly before bouncing back to the front of the stage and grabbing the microphone. He launched into the next song, and Spencer quickly glanced over at Pete Four before joining in. 

 

After the show was over, and they’d gotten everything back into the trailer, Spencer realised that getting a giant stuffed animal was probably not the best idea. The five of them were already smushed into the Brobecks van, and now they had Pete Four, two hats, and a pool noodle to deal with. Spencer hugged the dog close to his chest. “So, where do we put this stuff.”

 

“I donated my hat to Sisky,” Jon said. “Since he kept stealing it from Ry anyway.”

 

“Put the other hat and the noodle on the bus, but keep Pete,” Dallon suggested. “He looks cuddly, and besides, it’s not like you have to give up any of your shit, since you won it.”

 

“If any of TAI… tries to take your hat I’ll beat them up with the noodle,” Brendon said, and then climbed up on top of the Brobecks van. Rochelle and Spencer looked at each other, and Rochelle raised her eyebrows, silently saying  _ he’s your boyfriend. You chose this for yourself _ . Spencer couldn’t argue with that; Brendon’s impulsive antics usually ended in a funny story anyway. Brendon walked over to the end of the van. “Hey Dal, remember when you broke your foot and almost died because you backflipped off of this with your bass?”

 

“You did  _ what _ ?” Jon asked. 

 

Dallon shook their head. “Brendon, no.”

 

“Spence, throw me the dog,” Brendon said, wiggling his fingers in Spencer and Pete Four’s direction. “I’m gonna one-up Dallon.”

 

Dallon wrapped their arms around Spencer and the dog. “Do not.”

 

“Since when can you backflip?” Jon asked. He kicked off his flip flops and climbed up on top of the van with Brendon, sitting down behind him. “I know Brendon’s a bendy fucker, but are you both secretly gymnasts?”

 

“No,” Dallon said. They glared up at Brendon. “Stop thinking about whatever you’re thinking about.”

 

“I was actually thinking about that Pussycat Dolls song,” Brendon said, and then started singing  _ Don’t Cha _ while dancing around Jon on top of the van. 

 

Rochelle grabbed one of Jon’s flip flops and threw it up at Brendon. It missed, flying over the van and landing somewhere on the other side. “Stop seducing my boyfriend. You have your own.”

 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Brendon yelled, and then did a backflip off of the van, landing on his feet like a cat. He bowed afterwards, and ignored Jon telling him to retrieve his flip flop from the far side of the van. Instead, Brendon rushed Spencer and Dallon, reaching for Pete Four and successfully snatching him from them both. Dallon yelled, Spencer dropped to the floor laughing, and Brendon cackled as he scaled the van yet again. He dropped down beside Jon and started belting out  _ We are the Champions _ . 

 

“I’m not a part of this,” Jon said. 

 

“--and we’ll keep on fighting till the end--”

 

“We’re not fighting! You kidnapped Spencer’s son!” 

 

“-- _ WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS _ ” Brendon yelled in Jon’s ear, “ _ AND WE HAVE SPLIT CUSTODY--my friends” _

 

Rochelle turned to look down at Spencer. “We should have been a parody band.”

 

“Don’t encourage him,” Spencer replied, and leaned back against Dallon’s legs. Her wrapped a hand around Dallon’s ankle, pulling at their sock. Dallon reached down and ran a hand through Spencer’s hair. Nothing sexual, just  _ I see you there _ . It was a nice little gesture in the middle of whatever the fuck else was going on. The air was cool against his skin, even though the entirety of the Southwest was dry and hot. It was better when the sun was down. 

 

Brendon let out a yell and flipped off of the back of the van. He landed on his feet, naturally, and held up Pete Four like a trophy. He looked up at Jon, who was still lounging on the roof, barefoot. “Okay, we can leave now. Pete’ll probably kill us if we’re late to LA.”

 

“Get my shoe,” Jon said. He climbed back down from the van and grabbed the flip flop that hadn’t been thrown over the car, and headed to the backseat. Spencer was driving, as it was his turn, and Dallon was taking shotgun because the five of them had learned early on in the tour that having Brendon and Spencer alone in the front seats wasn’t a good idea. 

 

Spencer watched Rochelle, Brendon, and Jon get settled in in the back seats before turning the car on and putting on one of Dallon’s CDs. The collection had started expanding when fans realised that Panic! only listened to 80’s music on the road. People were making them mixtapes, which was cool, except that they nearly every CD had  _ Jessie’s Girl _ on it. Spencer was fucking tired of that song. It wasn’t bad, he’d just heard it way too many times in the last year and a half of his life. 

 

He breathed a sigh of relief when David Bowie came on. Spencer smiled over at Dallon. “You know, you remind me of Bowie.”

 

“Because I’m tall and have long legs?” Dallon asked, smiling slyly back at Spencer.

 

“It’s because if I could go back in time and fuck one celebrity, it’d be David Bowie,” Brendon said from behind Pete Four. 

 

Spencer laughed. “I was going more for the glitter and glam shit, but that to.”

 

“ _ You’d _ fuck David Bowie if you got the chance?” Dallon asked. 

 

“Who wouldn’t?” Spencer said. “I mean, come on. He’s David mother-fucking Bowie.”

 

* * *

 

**October 1, 2009; London, England.**

 

“One of my good friends actually got to see Bowie in concert,” Gavin said, and then waterfalled from Spencer’s bottle. The two of them were sitting in the grass at Hyde park, done with their runs for the morning. Spencer’s hair was in his face, and he was trying not to shiver in the rain that was drizzling down on them both. London was the polar opposite of Vegas when it came to weather. Spencer almost missed the sun. 

 

“That’s awesome,” Spencer said. “The first band I ever saw were the Backstreet Boys in 96. It was me, my best friend, and my mom was chaperoning it.”

 

“I feel bad for your mum,” Gavin said, laughing. Spencer’d learned that he was the kind of guy who laughed at the smallest things. It was endearing, and it didn’t hurt that he had a really pretty smile. Spencer could see that, even in the dark and dreary morning. “I can’t imagine taking two kids to see a band that popular. I’d be worried they’d get trampled.”

 

“Ry was tall,” Spencer said, because even at ten, she’d been long and lean and gangly. Puberty had just stretched her out a bit more. “And it wasn’t that bad. I think the worsts part--for my mom--was the drive back where Ry and I were both screeching the lyrics out of the window.”

 

“Oh, God, please tell me at least one of you knew how to sing,” Gavin said. 

 

“Rochelle isn’t half bad,” Spencer said, which was an understatement. Rochelle was way better than Spencer, and before Brendon had stumbled into their lives, she’d been the lead singer for Panic! at the Disco. Her voice was a little dry and flat, but she could hold a tune and harmonise better than Spencer, and definitely better than Brendon gave her credit for. 

 

“Well, that’s good,” Gavin said. He handed the water bottle back over to Spencer and looked him up and down. “I wouldn’t want your mum to suffer, not after creating someone like you.”

 

“Are you hitting on me?” Spencer asked. He let out a breathy laugh, glad that it was a dreary morning and Gavin couldn’t see the blush spreading across his face. 

 

“I think you’re quite charming, yes,” he said. Spencer considered leaning over and kissing him, but he didn’t want to give Gavin the wrong idea. Spencer thought he was an attractive guy, and he enjoyed their early morning runs together when they ran into each other. He wasn’t ready for a relationship, though, not yet. Sleeping with Mikey was okay, because they both knew it would never be anything but casual sex and the only feelings Spencer had for the guy was that he was hot as fuck and Spencer’d definitely jacked off to his face in high school. 

 

Gavin was a real person, with real feelings and the real potential of being something other than just friends. Spencer didn’t think he could handle all of that. He crossed his legs at the ankles and squinted up at the sky. “Don’t take this the wrong way, because I think you’re pretty great too… but I just ended a, like, four year long relationship only a few months ago, and I don’t think I’m ready to get into another one yet.”

 

“That’s alright, we can take it slow,” Gavin said, and smiled. “Did you want to grab breakfast with me today, or were you planning on heading back?”

 

“Let’s get breakfast,” Spencer said. He’d needed this run, after all the news with his old band. His head was mostly clear, but he wasn’t ready to go back and be alone with his thoughts again just yet. He knew he could talk with Gwyn about it, but she wouldn’t be awake for a few more hours, and Spencer didn't want to bother her. She had a life of her own outside of Spencer, and he didn't want to keep her from it. 

 

Besides, the place where Gavin and Spencer got breakfast from had some kickass tea flavours, and surprisingly good scones.

 

* * *

 

**March 4, 2006; Los Angeles, California.**

 

Pete’s rich person house was fucking weird. It was really pretty from the front, with Tuscan styling and a garden of palm trees and tropical flowers Spencer didn’t know the name of. Inside, though, was where it got weird. It was decorated with a mix of Spencer’s grandmother and a twenty-six year old’s bachelor pad. There were also various records scattered around the halls, and multiple dogs. Spencer didn’t know how many of them were Pete’s, and how many were Ashlee’s or one of their friends. 

 

“Pete lives like this?” Spencer whispered to Rochelle as they headed through the house. It was supposed to be a house party, where Pete and his bands and his friends all hung out and did whatever cool people did on the weekends in Los Angeles, but Spencer wasn’t feeling it. He was getting flashbacks to Rochelle’s senior prom night, where the two of them were pretending to be college students and Spencer felt like he couldn’t stick out more. 

 

“Hey, you’re the Panic! kids, right?” a tall and gorgeous man asked, looming over Spencer and Rochelle. His face broke out into a grin. “Holy shit, you guys are fucking tiny!”

 

“I’m five ten, asshole,” Rochelle said, because she still had no idea how to handle being famous. “You’re just way too tall.”

 

“It’s a Pete thing. He’s into tall people,” the guy shrugged. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Gabe, by the way. I’m one of Pete’s projects too.”

 

Rochelle raised an eyebrow and shook the guy’s hand, and Spencer could tell that she was trying to figure out Gabe’s history with Pete just by his introduction. Spencer was definitely intrigued; Gabe hadn’t tried to one-up either of them because they were younger. Hopefully that wouldn’t change if he ever found out that they used to be big Fall Out Boy fans. 

 

“What do you mean by project?” Rochelle asked. She tucked a piece of hair back behind her ear, tugging it out from under her bra strap. “As in Pete signed you too, or…?”

 

“As in I took some drugs in the desert, got told by a snake to make a band, and Pete was the only person who thought that was a good start for a project,” Gabe said. He was grinning the whole time, so Spencer couldn’t tell if he was being serious about any of it. He glanced over his shoulder, back up into the kitchen area, and then looked back to Spencer and Rochelle. “It didn’t hurt that we used to be together, either, and that I didn’t leave after summer was over.”

 

Spencer tried to keep his face neutral. Rochelle, however, was looking at Gabe like he’d just told her that two plus two was seven, and somehow he was making sense. Spencer knew all about the history involving Pete, Mikey Way, and the summer of 2005. He knew Mikey Way’s fiancee was also involved, somehow, but Rochelle had never mentioned anyone named Gabe when she talked about the infamous summer. 

 

“Patrick made you sign the contract?” Gabe asked, which made no sense. They were talking about Pete’s sex life, not record stuff, and besides, Patrick hadn’t been the one to sit down with Panic! and talk out all the legal things anyway. 

 

Rochelle nodded. “Yeah. And you?”

 

“I didn’t have to sign,” Gabe said. “I was a part of it.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Rochelle whispered. “That’s…”

 

“Fucking wild? Yeah,” Gabe said. He tipped back the can of Coke he was drinking from and swallowed. “Unfortunately, polyamory is never easy. I’m just surprised Mikey was the one who decided to go monogamous. He initiated most of it.”

 

“Not everyone’s poly all the time; maybe that’s what happened,” Spencer suggested. He couldn’t see himself being in a relationship with just one person, though. Not now that he’d been with Dallon and Brendon. He loved them both, and he loved how they all seemed to fit in perfectly with each other. Spencer knew not everyone was like him, though, and so he wasn’t going to try and convince Gabe that he understood all of the summer of 2005 stuff better. Spencer hadn’t been there. He didn’t know everything. “Not that my opinion means much. I mean, I wasn’t even there.”

 

“You’re lucky, because it was a fucking mess,” Gabe said. He looked over his shoulder again. “Anyway, enough sad shit. I think Joe and Patrick finally got the karaoke machine set up. I’m gonna go show off my Britney skills.”

 

“Somehow, I doubt you have Britney skills,” Rochelle said. She followed Gabe out to the backyard anyway, and Spencer followed because he had nowhere better to be. He’d lost track of Jon, Brendon, and Dallon while he and Rochelle were talking with Gabe, but it was fine, because the three of them could take care of themselves.

 

It turned out that Brendon was in the pool, playing chicken with William and two girls Spencer didn’t know, and that Jon and Dallon were already doing karaoke. Naturally, they were singing Under Pressure, with Dallon as Bowie and Jon as Freddie Mercury. 

 

Rochelle elbowed Spencer. “Now would you fuck David Bowie?”

 

“Why would I need to when I’ve got the modern version already?” Spencer said, and winked before making a dumb, suggestive motion with his tongue. Rochelle pushed his face away and moved up through the crowd towards the karaoke machine. Spencer came up behind her, jumping onto her back. “Would you fuck Freddie Mercury, then?”

 

“Spence, he’s gay!” Rochelle said, hoisting Spencer up. 

 

“When’s that stopped anyone?” Gabe said, because of course he was back. “By the way, Walker’s got a nice voice.”

 

“Thanks,” Rochelle said. “But he’s my boyfriend.”

 

“Kudos to you then,” Gabe said, grinning again. Rochelle grinned back, and dropped Spencer. Luckily, he’d only been a few inches off of the ground, so he didn’t fall on his ass and instead moved around to be on the other side of Gabe. Gabe ruffled Spencer’s hair. “No cutting in line, buddy. Wait your turn.”

 

“What if I told you I was with the band?” Spencer asked. Considering he was dating Dallon, and Dallon and Jon were currently the closest thing this party had to a band, Spencer figured it was worth a try. 

 

Gabe shook his head. “Everyone’s with the band here. Try again.”

 

“I’m dating Bowie?” Spencer said. He didn’t miss Rochelle losing it in the background. Spencer was cool with it, though. David Bowie was a cool looking dude, and if Dallon was into him, Spencer could understand. Besides, it wasn’t as though Dallon would leave Spencer and Brendon for current David Bowie. Current David Bowie was an old dude, and probably not that hot any more. 

 

As the song came to an end, Pete let out a wolf whistle from the other side of the backyard and Jon and Dallon both bowed before replacing the microphones and jumping off the stage. Jon was trying to keep his arm around Dallon’s shoulders, but Dallon was too tall and it just looked like Jon was desperately clinging to them. Dallon had a huge, lopsided grin on their face as they dragged Jon over to Spencer first. Dallon pulled Spencer into a deep kiss, and Spencer held onto his partner as Jon slipped off of them. Dallon pulled back and glanced over to Gabe. “You’re the Midtown guy?”

 

“Ex Midtown, but yeah,” Gabe said. “I didn’t know you knew who we were.”

 

Dallon shrugged. “I try to keep up with tiny bands that deserved better.”

 

“Aww, thanks, that’s sweet,” Gabe said. 

 

Dallon rolled their eyes. “You’re next, anyway.”

 

Gabe did finger guns and slid past Spencer and Dallon. Jon pulled him into a quick bro-hug before he bounced up to the machine and started up  _ Oops! I Did It Again _ while winding the microphone wire around his forearm. Dallon watched him with slightly narrowed eyes. “I like that guy. He’s fucking weird, but I like him.”

 

“Maybe we’ll get to tour with his new band, since he signed with Pete too, apparently,” Rochelle said. She looked around the party, frowning. “Unrelated, but where’d you guys put Brendon?”

 

“In the pool, where he belongs,” Jon said. “I swear, that guy hates clothes.”

 

“I don’t see why that’s a problem,” Spencer said, which immediately got him a middle finger in his face. It was Rochelle, naturally, because best friends could do that to each other, and there was no malice in it. 

 

The four of them headed over to the side of the pool, watching Brendon and William and the two girls while talking with people who came by. Gabe showed up about an hour or so later, holding a bottle of beer now, and draped himself down over Jon and Rochelle’s laps. Apparently he and Jon knew each other from back before Panic! was a band. Jon had done some teching for Fall Out Boy and TAI… both, and the two bands had crossed paths with both Midtown and MCR back when all of them were relatively unknown. 

 

Rochelle had known who Gabe was, through Jon, but she’d never made the connection between Jon’s Gabe in New Jersey and Gabe being involved with Pete and Mikey Way. Apparently, most people didn’t make that connection, even though there were pictures out there of Gabe and Pete making out, and one of Mikey Way grinding up against Gabe as well. The connection should have been obvious, but since Midtown had disappeared before the big summer, most of the shippy fangirls had overlooked it. 

 

Rochelle glared down at Gabe. “Don’t call me a shippy fangirl. That’s so weird.”

 

“But you were one,” Gabe commented. 

 

“I prefer conspiracy theorist,” Rochelle said. “And anyway, I don’t do that anymore, now that I actually know Pete. I locked my account and everything. I haven’t written fic in over a year.”

 

“I should write a fic,” Gabe said. He looked around at all the people there, all the up and coming bands that Pete had decided to put his trust in. “But who would people even ship me with? I’m a one-man show right now, and all the girls are too busy fighting over Petekey this and Peterick that to even think about me being the one sucking Pete’s dick.”

 

“It’s not that impressive,” Rochelle said, at the same time Jon blurted out, “what the fuck is a Peterick?”

 

“I’ve seen it, Rochelle, I know,” Gabe said. “And a Peterick is Pete and Patrick, because that makes total sense.”

 

“That’d be like Ry and I dating,” Spencer said, looking over at Rochelle. It was dark now, so that the only light was coming up from the pool and from the little lamps set out around the perimeter of the yard. Rochelle’s hair had started to curl up from the warmth and the pool water, and at some point, her shirt had slipped off her shoulder and she’d given up on fixing it. Spencer knew that Rochelle was pretty, because he wasn’t a dumbass, but he couldn’t picture himself kissing her. It’d be like kissing his sister. “I don’t get it.”

 

“Well, Patrick’s straighter than an emo kid’s hair, so it’s nowhere near the realm of possibilities,” Gabe said. “Not that fans give a shit about that. Some of those kids have no sense of boundaries.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Dallon said. “Someone tried to rip Brendon’s shirt off while we were performing back in Dallas. I’m not looking forward to when they realise they can throw their bras on stage.”

 

“More for me, I guess,” Rochelle said, shrugging. 

 

“You should throw them back, if it ever happens,” Jon suggested. He wiggled one arm out from under Gabe’s thighs and waved. “Hey Brendon, we’re talking about underwear.”

 

“Sounds awesome, watch out,” Brendon said, and then without further warning, he flopped down over Dallon and Spencer. He was naked except for his bright purple swim trunks, and was also soaking wet from being in the pool for so long. Spencer shivered as the water soaked through his jeans. Brendon flipped over onto his back, staring up at Dallon and Spencer. “What kind of underwear?”

 

“Bras from the audience,” Jon said. 

 

Brendon wiggled his eyebrows. “Juicy.”

 

“You’re banned from speaking ever again,” Rochelle said drily. 

 

Gabe raised an eyebrow. “You can just do that? Tell him to shut up and he listens? Can you do that with Pete; he never shuts up.”

 

“Depends on if Pete’s scared of me or not,” Rochelle said. 

 

“I’m not scared of yo, what the fuck,” Brendon said, pouting. He kicked his foot out, trying to kick Rochelle’s side, but Gabe kept blocking him. He probably would have kicked Gabe in the face instead of hitting Rochelle, anyway. Rochelle was laughing at the both of them, which only made Brendon try harder. “I’m not! You’re the least scary person in the world! Fucking fight me!”

 

“Both of you would lose in a fight,” Jon said. “You’re built like uncooked spaghetti.”

 

“Fuck you, Jon Walker,” Brendon said, sticking his tongue out. 

 

“Sorry,” Jon said, laughing as Gabe started kicking back at Brendon. “But I’ve already got a girlfriend.”

 

* * *

 

**October 7, 2009; London, England.**

 

Spencer was sitting at a bar in the London airport, drinking a shitty overpriced beer, and avoiding eye contact with anyone who wasn’t blonde. He pulled out his phone again, even though he knew what time it was since there was a giant clock on the wall. Linda’s flight should have landed thirty minutes ago. Spencer knew she was open about her political opinions, but he didn’t think she was so left-leaning that she’d get detained by the customs people. 

 

Actually, Spencer wasn’t even sure that customs people could detain someone for their political opinions. 

 

The crowd split, and there, strutting down the hall with a tired scowl on her face, was none other than Linda Ignarro herself. She had a faux leather bag slung over one shoulder, her reading glasses perched up on the top of her head, and looked like a frazzled beach model. She was wearing a rumpled flannel and her jeans were rolled up at the ankles, so it was more of a lesbian beach model, but whatever. The London airport was her personal runway, and she was owning it. 

 

Spencer stood up and waved. Linda waved back and jogged over, still looking frustrated. Spencer finished the last of his beer and looked her up and down. “Everything okay?”

 

“They lost my luggage,” Linda said. “How the hell do you lose luggage? I’m only here for three days!”

 

“You can borrow some of Gwyn’s stuff?” Spencer suggested. 

 

“Isn’t Gwyn like, five foot two?” Linda asked. “I don’t think I’ll fit, considering I’ve got over a half a foot on her.”

 

“Shit,” Spencer said. “Well, I guess we can go emergency shopping.”

 

Linda laughed. “I swear, my life is a badly written comedy sometimes.”

 

“You can tell me about it on the tube,” Spencer said. He started to pull out his wallet, and then looked back at Linda. “Unless you wanted to grab a drink first?”

 

“I’m good,” Linda said, waving him off. She pulled her glasses off of her head and folded them up before slipping them into her bag and zipping it back up. She and Spencer headed out of the airport and onto the London underground. It was crowded, and so they had to grab on and stand for most of the stops. 

 

Spencer let Linda tell him about all of the things she’d been dealing with back in the states. Apparently, Rochelle and Jon had moved out of the apartment they’d been living in in Chicago and had moved out to Seattle. Spencer was glad, because Rochelle had fallen in love with Seattle ever since the band visited it for the first time in 2006. She and Jon had gotten engaged there, and Jon had called it “Chicago, but without all of the gun violence.” Spencer figured the two of them were enjoying it, wherever they’d settled in Seattle. 

 

“In less good news, one of my students got arrested,” Linda said. Someone behind them made a strange face, like they couldn’t believe that American students could get arrested. Linda ignored them. “For protesting, which, quite frankly, is bullshit, because the first amendment exists for a reason, and it’s not like she was hurting anyone. She just had a bunch of posters talking about women’s rights and Planned Parenthood.”

 

“What was she protesting?” Spencer asked. “I thought UC was pretty on board with the whole pro-choice thing.”

 

“It is, but some idiot invited the abortress people to put their bullshit on display,” Linda said. She rolled her eyes. “Genocide Awareness my  _ ass _ . No one involved in that shit has ever seen an anatomy book, let alone a fetus.”

 

“At least you didn’t get arrested,” Spencer said. He wasn’t sure where to go with this. Of course the really obsessive pro-life people with their false advertisements sucked ass, and of course it was bullshit that a student had protested--legally--but that was in Chicago and Spencer and Linda were on a train headed towards the center of London. There wasn’t much they could do out here.

 

“I should have gone into pre-law,” Linda said. She sighed. “Too late now; I’ve already got a job lined up. And don’t worry about the kid; they don’t have anything on her and she was following all of the university guidelines. She’s probably back in her dorm already.”

 

That was good news. What was even better news was that Linda was the easiest person to shop for, and she and Spencer had time to pick up Indian take-out from the restaurant Gwyn and her friends loved. Spencer had only been there once, but the chicken tikki masala was fucking amazing. Gwyn was painting on an easel and singing along to Gladys Bentley on her record player. Spencer knocked against the wall so he wouldn’t startle her and mess up the art she was doing. “I brought food and an American!”

 

Gwyn put her paintbrush in her mouth and leaned over to stop the record. She dropped the paintbrush into her water cup and turned around on her stool. “Oh, hey, that smells amazing.”

 

“Yeah, we bought Linda some new bodyspray since the airlines lost her bags,” Spencer said. He stepped forward and set the takeout bags on the table. 

 

“I meant the food, you absolute arse,” Gwyn said. She padded across the room and pulled Linda into a hug. “I’m so sorry you had to put up with this man all on your own. It’s lovely to meet you, by the way.”

 

“Same to you,” Linda said. “And you’ve got good taste in food, so we’re definitely going to get along.”

 

The three of them ended up eating on the couch and popping open a bottle of wine between the three of them. Spencer felt like he was at home, sitting between Gwyn and Linda and laughing at everything. There was a part of him that hated that Linda couldn’t stick around for more than a weekend, but she wasn’t running from anything, and Spencer was. He knew it was a copout, and that no one would harass him if he went back to the states, but he couldn’t do it. He just needed the space between himself and the remnants of his band. 

 

Luckily, Linda had never been a part of that. She’d hung out with the band, and occasionally hopped into the Brobecks van or their tour bus for a day or two, but she had nothing to do with the breakup. She also respected Spencer enough to not bring it up first. Spencer didn’t want to become the ex-Panic! drummer and nothing else. He especially didn’t want people to see him and remember that he was the reason the band broke up in the first place, and that maybe if he’d said something, Cape Town wouldn’t be such a bittersweet memory.

 

* * *

 

**March 10, 2006; Seattle, Washington.**

 

It was cold, and wet, and rainy, and Spencer was shivering even with his hood up. Rochelle, however, was loving it. She kept dragging Spencer around the downtown area, pointing random shit out that would probably look prettier if it wasn’t all undersaturated by the rain. 

 

“I want to move here,” she said, pulling Spencer over to a coffee shop that looked no wider than the Brobecks van. “It’s so pretty.”

 

“It’s dreary and sad,” Spencer said. He shivered as a wave of warmth washed over him. The coffee shop was bigger on the inside, and decorated in warm golds and browns. It felt like shifting down into the creases of a worn, soft couch and burrowing under a thick blanket. It was a lot better than the outside. Spencer unzipped his jacket. “I don’t get your taste in things.”

 

“I know. Most people don’t,” she said, and shrugged off her own jacket before draping it over her arm. She looked comfortable, and glowing, like maybe she really did belong here. Spencer still didn’t see the appeal. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would choose to live in such a rainy, dreary place. Seattle, despite being really lush and green, didn’t seem like it saw a lot of sun. 

 

The two approached the counter, and Spencer quickly scanned the menu board to find something he’d like. The barista on the other side had a shaved head and three eyebrow piercings. He barely looked up from the book he was reading. “What can I get you?”

 

“Can I get a medium dark roast with cream?” Rochelle asked. She wound her coat over her arms. 

 

“And a hazelnut latte,” Spencer said. “Uh, medium too.”

 

The barista read the price out and took Rochelle’s cash without looking up. He didn’t wave them off, but he looked so uninterested that Spencer and Rochelle just backed off on their own. A girl with white-blonde hair pulled up into pigtails gave them their drinks, and then the two found a little table by the windows. 

 

The view wasn’t half bad, even though everything was still grey. Spencer could see the water, barely, and there was a little sailboat floating across the bay. Two men and their dog walked by, with one of them waving his hands around excitedly. A child jumped in a puddle on the side of the road, and her mother screamed at her to watch out. The child jumped again, and Spencer smiled. So maybe Seattle wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t for him, but it wasn’t horrible either, and he could come visit Rochelle whenever she moved here. 

 

“I visited my dad while you were in Chicago,” Rochelle said without any warning or lead-in. 

 

“Why?”

 

“He’s in the hospital,” she said. She let out a deep breath and pressed her thumb against the small mouth opening on the cup. “I don’t… I think he’s dying, Spence, and I don’t know how I feel about it.”

 

Spencer knew how he felt about it, but from the drained look on Rochelle’s face, he knew his opinion didn’t matter. He didn’t like her dad, because the son of a bitch had abused her and made her feel like shit for being who she was. He was an alcoholic, and cruel, and maybe he deserved an early death. Maybe some things happened for a reason, and this was one of them. Rochelle didn’t need to hear any of that, though. She wasn’t really asking for Spencer’s opinion. Spencer sat forward and put his hand on hers. “Ry, you’re not supposed to know how to feel. He’s your dad, yeah, but he’s also a shitty person.”

 

“He called me his daughter,” she said. Her hair was acting like a curtain from the rest of the world, so that no one else in the coffeeshop could see her expression. “And, I know I can’t forgive him for everything, and I’m not going to, but shit, Spencer. Why’d it have to take this for him to realise what he’d been missing out on?”

 

“Because some people don’t appreciate what they have until they start losing it,” Spencer said. “As much as I hate to say it, you’re the only family he has left, and I don’t think he, or anyone else, wants to die alone.”

 

“I know,” Rochelle said. “I just wish there was an easy way to feel about this.”

 

Spencer nodded. He looked at Rochelle, really looked at her, and tried to take it all in. She was nineteen, a college drop out, in a band, and her dad was dying. He was the only family she had that hadn’t abandoned her, and she was the only one who hadn’t left her father entirely. Rochelle’s mom left the picture literally months after Spencer met Rochelle for the first time. Her dad’s parents had given up on their son long ago, when he left the army for reasons Spencer didn’t know. Rochelle was an only child, her dad was an only child, and they’d grown up in that house in Summerlin together, riding out each other’s angst. 

 

Rochelle’s dad was a victim of neglect, but that didn’t justify how he’d treated his daughter. Rochelle was right; there was no easy way to think about this. It would have been a lot easier if Rochelle’s dad had been a piece of shit up until the end, or if he’d come around earlier, without the threat of death hanging in the air. He hadn’t, though, and now Rochelle and Spencer were stuck in this weird land of limbo.

 

“He was born here, actually,” Rochelle said. “My dad. His dad was in the military too, and got stationed here for a while before they moved to Vegas.”

 

“Is that why you want to live here?” Spencer asked. He was a little confused. 

 

“Not… not really,” Rochelle said. “There’s a dumb part of me that wants to move out here with my dad, because he said he loved the Seattle air and all that, but I don’t think that’d be a good idea. I mean, I have Jon, and we’re all on tour, and I don’t know anything about Seattle other than what I’ve seen.”

 

“We’re not going to be touring forever, and you could always bring Jon with you,” Spencer said. “He likes the cold, and it’d definitely be an interesting way to introduce him to your dad. Unless you’ve already done that?”

 

“No, Jon and my dad haven’t met,” Rochelle said. She pushed her hair back behind her ear again, which meant that the hard part of the conversation was over. She leaned back in her chair and looked around the coffee shop again, taking it all in. Spencer could imagine Rochelle and Jon here, bundled up in a corner with a pad of paper or a laptop between them. Rochelle, if she ever stopped being emo, would end up being one of those hipster girls who wore distressed jeans and plaid shirts. Jon was already halfway there himself, and they’d fit in here. 

 

Spencer didn’t know how Rochelle’s dad would fall into place, but he knew Rochelle and he knew she could make things work if she put her mind to it. After all, she was the reason Panic! at the Disco existed. She’d been the one to pick Dallon and Brendon, and the one to contact Pete first. If Rochelle had a plan, there wasn’t much that the universe could do other than step back and let her work her magic on it.

 

Spencer and Rochelle finished up their coffees and headed out of the coffee shop. It had started raining again, and Spencer pulled his hood up over his head. Rochelle didn’t have a hood on her jacket, and was trying to pull the back of her jacket up over her head. Spencer rolled his eyes and unzipped his, handing it over to her. 

 

“I’m fine,” Rochelle said. She looked like a hunchback. 

 

“My hair’s straighter than yours,” Spencer said, holding back a shiver. “Trust me, you need the hood more than I do.”

 

“Sometimes, I really hate when you make sense,” Rochelle said. She shrugged off her jacket and traded with Spencer, pulling his hood up over her hair. Spencer pulled on Rochelle’s jacket, noting how weirdly it fit him. He used to be able to fit women’s clothes, so it was a good thing that this jacket didn’t sit right on his shoulders. It meant the T was working. 

 

Unfortunately, it meant that the armpits of the jacket were poking up against Spencer’s armpits, and he had to keep pulling the fabric away as he and Rochelle hailed a taxi and headed back towards the venue. 

 

“Would your dad even want to come here?” Spencer asked. “I mean, he has his doctor in Vegas and everything… maybe he’d want to stay with someone who already knew what to do with him?”

 

“I don’t know,” Rochelle said. She pulled the sleeves of Spencer’s jacket down over her hands, so that only the tips of her fingers were visible. “I’m still trying to make sense of everything. If you’d told me this time last year that my dad would accept me for who I am and want to fix everything… I don’t think I would have believed you. There’s part of me that still doesn’t believe it, but I want to,” she looked over at Spencer, and he could see that there were tears forming at the corners of her eyes, “I really want to, Spence. I don’t want to lose my dad.”

 

* * *

 

**August 6, 1998; Summerlin, Nevada.**

 

Spencer was nervous and excited, but mostly nervous. She and Ryan were going to their first concert ever tomorrow night, and even though her mom was coming with them, it was still going to be awesome. It was the Backstreet Boys; how could it be anything other than awesome? And she was seeing it with Ryan, who was her best friend in the world, and he never judged her for not squealing over the guys or wanting to talk about which one she liked the most. 

 

Ryan had his favourites, because he was Ryan and he rated  _ everyone _ . It was his thing, now. He rated people’s handwriting, who in his class was cutest, which bands were going to be big in five years, and of course, who was most likely to crash and burn by 2000. Spencer didn’t always follow his logic, but Ryan knew a lot about other people, and he was often right. 

 

“Spencer! Ryan’s here!” her mom called from downstairs. Spencer bolted out of her room and came down the stairs, to where Ryan was standing in the foyer, holding his pillow and his sleeping bag under his arms. He slept over at Spencer’s house a lot, even though it made Spencer’s parents uncomfortable for whatever reason. It wasn’t like Spencer and Ryan were going to be kissing each other in her room. That’d be gross, like kissing a brother. Spencer couldn’t imagine being anything other than Ryan’s friend. 

 

Spencer grinned up at him. “You ready for tomorrow?”

 

“Obviously,” Ryan said. His eyes flicked back over Spencer’s shoulder, to where her mom had left to put the pizza in the oven. “Do you think your mom would let us borrow her makeup?”

 

“Why would we need makeup? It’s not like we’re meeting them,” Spencer said, rolling her eyes. All of the girls in her grade were starting to talk about makeup and boyfriends and Spencer just… didn’t get the appeal. Sure, makeup could be cool, but a lot of people looked stupid when they wore it, and Spencer was pretty sure she’d be one of those people if she tried to wear any makeup. She also wasn’t interested in any boyfriends, because she was friends with Ryan and some other boys, and they were all gross. 

 

Admittedly, Spencer wasn’t much better, but at least she washed her hands after she peed. Sometimes her guy friends didn’t do that, and it was really gross. 

 

She and Ryan settled themselves down on the couch, with Ryan on one end and Spencer on the other. They were still out of school for the summer, and Spencer was enjoying it. Last year, she’d been in fifth grade, alone in her and Ryan’s old elementary school while he got to go on to middle school and meet new people and discover newer, cooler music. He’d even ended up growing out his hair a little and cutting it so that he had these swoopy bangs that covered his eyes. That weird year was over now, and Spencer and Ryan were back to being around each other all the time. 

 

Spencer could tell that Ryan had missed her. It showed when he came over to her house nearly every weekend, even though he had friends in middle school and could have been hanging out with them. It also showed in the way that he wanted to come see the Backstreet Boys with Spencer and her mom, even though he wasn’t into that kind of music and liked stuff like Taking Back Sunday, Blink 182, and Alkaline Trio. 

 

Basically, Ryan liked music that involved a lot of sad dudes screaming about how much life sucked, and the Backstreet Boys were singing about how hot they all were. There was a bit of a difference between the two, but Ryan was here anyway, and he seemed genuinely excited about it all. 

 

“I can’t believe this is gonna be our first concert,” Ryan said, propping his feet up on one of Spencer’s knees.

 

“What did you think it was gonna be?” Spencer asked. She shifted her legs so that Ryan’s feet slipped off of her. He had really bony ankles, and they were super uncomfortable on her knees. “Some crazy metal band?”

 

“I don’t know,” Ryan shrugged. “But like, imagine we end up famous and we have to tell people that the first show we ever saw was the Backstreet Boys.”

 

“With my mom,” Spencer added, because that seemed to add to the embarrassment of it all. Not that there was anything wrong with the Backstreet Boys, or Spencer’s mom for that matter, but they weren’t the coolest band. At least not for the people that Spencer and Ryan tended to hang out with. 

 

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Shut up. Your mom is cool.”

 

“I guess,” Spencer said. She wouldn’t describe her mom as cool, though. A good mom, yes, but she was nowhere near cool. She liked old music and her idea of a fun Saturday was watching Law and Order or playing board games with Spencer and her younger sisters. She was a lot nicer than Ryan’s dad, though, which was probably why Ryan thought Spencer’s mom was cool. He didn’t have the best perspective when it came to parents, but Spencer didn’t hold it against him. Her parents weren’t divorced, or in their second marriages, or anything. Their marriage was almost too perfect, in comparison to the rest of Spencer’s friends. 

 

Ryan kicked her in the shin. “Come on, your mom’s totally cool. Trevor’s mom says he can’t go to concerts  _ at all _ . Apparently he’s too young, or whatever. Obviously it’s all bullshit--”

 

“Watch your mouth, Ryan,” Spencer’s mom said from the kitchen. Spencer had no idea that she was able to hear them. The kitchen and the living room weren’t even that close to each other, and there was a wall between her and Ryan and her mom. 

 

“Sorry Ms. Smith!” Ryan called back “Anyway, as I was saying, it’s utter nonsense that Trevor can’t go to a show even if there’s going to be a parent there, because he’s twelve years old and he’s basically a teenager anyway. Teenagers get to do whatever they want, since they’re basically adults anyway.”

 

Spencer was pretty sure Ryan was wrong about that, because she had some older cousins. Even though they got to do a lot of things that Spencer couldn’t, like drive and see R-rated movies, they weren’t really adults. They still had to sit at the kids table, and they still got in trouble with their parents when they stayed out too late or didn't do their homework. High school and being a teenager wasn’t all the movies made it out to be, but it’d definitely be an improvement. If nothing else, Spencer would get taller, and skinnier, and the other kids wouldn’t make fun of her for how she looked any more. 

 

Spencer pulled her legs up closer to her chest. “Which one of us do you think is gonna end up taller, after we’re done with our growth spurts and everything?”

 

“Well, me, obviously. I can’t be friends with people who are taller than me; how else am I supposed to assert my dominance over them?” Ryan asked. 

 

Spencer kicked his shin. “You’re the worst.”

 

“You love me,” Ryan said, grinning. 

 

“Like a brother,” Spencer said, and stuck her hand out. Her fist was closed, save for her pinky, and Ryan curled his pinky around hers, squeezing their fingers in a hug. They weren’t related by blood, but that didn’t matter. They were best friends, and there was nothing in the world that could ever tear Spencer and Ryan apart. 

 

* * *

 

**March 21, 2006; Las Vegas, Nevada.**

 

Panic! had been back in Las Vegas for the past three days, but this was the first time Rochelle had a day to herself. There’d been unpacking, interviews, a photoshoot for a local magazine… there was so much stuff Rochelle had never imagined. She didn't resent it, but it was tiring after a while, and she was the type of person who needed a lot of alone time. Someone had once described her as anti-social, which wasn’t true. Rochelle liked socialising and hanging out with her friends, but she didn’t want to do it all the time. Sometimes it was nice to retreat to a corner and read for a few hours. 

 

She still didn’t have a car, so she was taking a taxi to the hospital and ignoring the driver. Not because she was rude, but because the radio station he was listening to was playing Sins and Rochelle didn’t want him to turn around and recognise her. 

 

“Thanks for the ride,” Rochelle said when the pulled up to the hospital. She pulled a handful of bills out of her purse and handed them over as a tip. “Have a great day.”

 

“You too, miss,” the taxi driver said, and Rochelle felt a rush of joy go through her body. She was a miss. Not a sir, not a confused look as the other person tried to decide if she was a woman or a man. Just a miss, nothing else. She waved at him as he drove off, and then strode up into the hospital. 

 

Her dad was in the same room as before, but he didn’t looked better. He was pale, and his eyes were closed. There was an IV next to him, strapped up to his arm, and he didn’t look up when the door open. The nurse smiled sadly at Rochelle. “I’ll leave you two alone for a little bit.”

 

Rochelle nodded, and closed the door between her and the nurse. She adjusted the strap on her purse and walked over to where her dad was. He slowly turned his head over and opened his eyes, looking her up and down. Rochelle took a deep, shaky breath. Even though they’d started to make up, this still wasn’t easy. She still remembered what he’d done to her, and all the things he’d called her while he was drunk and angry. 

 

“How’s the touring been so far?” he asked. “Are you keeping those boys out of trouble?”

 

“I’m trying,” Rochelle said. She took a deep breath. “Dad, if you could go to Seattle… would you?”

 

“I can’t go much of anywhere at this point,” he said. He looked away from her, up at the ugly, off-white ceiling tiles. Rochelle watched him swallow, and ignored how his eyes were glistening with tears under the harsh hospital lights. “I shouldn’t be travelling anyway. They’re looking for a new liver, and no one’s matched up to my kidneys, either.”

 

“I could--”

 

“No,” her dad snapped. Rochelle flinched back instinctively. He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. Something in the background beeped. “Rochelle, you’re not putting yourself at risk for me. I know you’ve said you’d never drink, but you’re young, and in a rock band, and I don’t want to see you ten years later with no kidneys because you gave me one and then changed your mind about liquor.”

 

“But I’m not going to change my mind, and you need it more than I do,” Rochelle said. She couldn’t imagine herself drinking, not when she had seen what it could do to a person. 

 

“Even if you don’t, I’m also losing my liver, and you can’t fix that,” her dad said, reaching out to place his hand over hers. Rochelle looked down at their hands. They both had long, thin fingers, but Rochelle’s nails were longer and healthier, and her veins weren’t as visible as her dad’s. His skin was pale and sickly against hers, and the tips of his fingers were like ice against her skin. He squeezed her hand, weakly. “Sometimes, there isn’t an answer, Rochelle. Some things can’t be fixed the way you want them to, and you have to learn how to let go.”

 

“How long… do you know how long you’ve got left?” Rochelle said. If her dad wasn’t able to find a liver transplant, and he was refusing to take one of her kidneys, Rochelle didn’t think that he had much time left. 

 

Her dad sighed and slowly took his hand back. “They said about a year.”

 

Rochelle nodded. It wasn’t a lot of time, but maybe it could be enough to change his mind. She changed the subject, talking instead about the band and all the cool places she’d seen since she last saw him. Rochelle didn’t bring up moving to Seattle. She had to take things one step at a time, but she had a plan to get there with Jon and her dad. She could pull it off. She had a year, after all. 

 

* * *

 

**April 29, 2006; Manchester, England.**

 

“This is so fucking cool,” Sarah said, looking around the backstage area with awe in her eyes. She and Linda both were looking starstruck as various pop punk band members wandered around between busses and trailers. It was the end of Linda’s spring break and the beginning of Sarah’s, and the two girls had managed to come over with Panic! for a weekend long festival. 

 

“Not to sound like a fanboy, but the My Chem bus is right over there,” Spencer said, pointing to a black and grey tour bus where Frank Iero himself was jumping down out of the front entrance. “I’m standing on the same field as My Chemical fucking Romance.”

 

“You’re such an emo,” Linda said, laughing. She, Sarah, and Spencer were hanging out at a picnic table near one of the drink stands while the rest of the band was at their merch table around front. 

 

Sarah pecked her girlfriend on the cheek. “Watch it, you’re dating an emo.”

 

“I thought you were going scene?” Spencer asked, raising an eyebrow. Sarah was rocking the excessive black eyeliner and shaggy bangs of an emo kid, but her clothes were way too bright and she had on three belts. “Or are you making a new trend?”

 

“Scemo,” Linda suggested. “Scene-emo.”

 

Sarah scrunched up her nose. “Absolutely not.”

 

“What? It’s just like how people make up names for ships and all that,” Linda said. “Like, Jon and Rochelle are Rywalk somehow, and Brad and Angelina are Bradgelina. I think. I honestly don’t pay that much attention to straight couples.”

 

“I don’t pay much attention to Brad and Angelina,” Sarah said, and shrugged. She stabbed the straw into her juicebox and took a drink from it. Spencer didn’t pay attention to Brad and Angelina either, but most of that was because he was touring most of the time, and there wasn’t a TV or wifi in the Brobecks van. It was just him, his bandmates, and Dallon’s ever growing collection of 80’s music (and the occasional late 70’s song that snuck onto a mixtape). He didn’t have time to pay attention to a random celebrity couple. 

 

Someone came up behind Spencer and tapped him on his shoulder, startling him. He turned around with his Sprite bottle still in hand, and came face to face with a tiny orange-haired girl. She looked like the kind of girl Rochelle would have dated in high school. Spencer had seen her before somewhere, performing, but he didn’t know where or what band she was in. He frowned. “Sorry, I don’t think I know you…”

 

“It’s cool, I’m Hayley,” she said. She looked past Spencer at Sarah and Linda. “Uh, so, the thing is, our band’s crew disappeared, and we can’t find them anywhere, and we have soundcheck in, like, an hour. I don’t want to ask one of the bigger bands because they already have a lot going on, but could we borrow one or two of your tech guys?”

 

“Probably?” Spencer said, looking around in search of Zach. Zach was basically Panic’s babysitter, and when one of the members didn’t know what to do, they went to him. Zach wasn’t around, and was probably with the rest of the band at the merch table, which meant that Spencer was in charge. Or at least as in charge as an eighteen year old could be. “I mean, we could help too? Linda and Sarah aren’t in the band, they’re just our friends, so they’re not booked for anything.”

 

“Oh shit, seriously?” Hayley said, perking up significantly. “You’re amazing.”

 

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m Spencer, by the way. I’m the drummer for Panic! at the Disco.”

 

“I’m Hayley, which I said already, and I sing for Paramore,” she said, leading the three of them over to her band’s tour bus and gear. Spencer didn’t consider himself to be super tall, but walking behind this girl made him feel like a giant. She couldn’t be over five feet, if that. 

 

Paramore turned out to be really cool. They were young, like Panic!, and they were relatively new to the scene. Their first and only album so far had come out only a few months before Fever, and they were still in the wide-eyed baby phase of being a band. Hayley was hilarious and adorable, and almost like a smaller version of Brendon with the way she was always running around and jumping on people. It was weird, though, because all of them were still kids. Hayley was only seventeen. She was a year and a half younger than Spencer, and if they’d met a year ago, Spencer wouldn’t have cared. Now, though, he was watching her and wondering how the hell a seventeen year old girl had her life together enough that she could front an all guy band. 

 

Hell, Rochelle wasn’t even the frontwoman and people still gave her shit about being in a band with mostly guys. Spencer couldn’t imagine the shit Hayley might face, being the center of her band and everything. 

 

“So do you guys always wear costumes, then, or was that just an American tour thing?” Hayley asked. She and Spencer were setting up Zac’s drumset, and Spencer was trying not to mess with it. He liked drums, and he didn’t have a lot of self control, especially if there were drum sticks around. 

 

“Usually, yeah. They smell pretty gross after, like, the first week,” Spencer said. Luckily, Panic!, Linda, and Sarah were only in England for the weekend, so the band’s stage clothes wouldn’t get too nasty. “I didn’t know how much people could sweat until I got in this band, honestly.”

 

“Febreeze is your best friend,” Hayley said, wiggling her eyebrows. “When you’re stuck as the only girl around a bunch of dudes, you learn quick.”

 

“That explains why Rochelle doesn’t hang out with us after the show,” Spencer said. Hayley laughed, and told Spencer that she and Rochelle would have to get together and compare notes at some point. Spencer made a mental note to introduce the two girls later, maybe after Paramore’s soundcheck was over and neither band was on stage.

 

Paramore was playing before Panic!, and then there were a few more bands before the event was over and everyone started packing up to go back home. Rochelle, Spencer, and Jon had all seen My Chemical Romance last night, and their performance had been even better than last Warped Tour. It was also less hot, because it was at night and in April instead of the middle of summer, and Spencer wasn’t wearing a binder. 

 

Spencer still hadn’t talked to a single member of My Chem. He didn’t think he ever would, because they were a big, cool band that everyone wanted to be, and Panic! was still just a bunch of kids and Dallon. 

 

“Have you talked to any of the other bands?” Spencer asked.

 

“Kind of. I don’t know if any of them would consider me a friend or anything, but Travie McCoy gave Zac and I highfives this morning at breakfast,” Hayley said. “That might be because we’re both Pete projects, but it’s Travie McCoy. He’s cool.”

 

“You’re on Pete’s label too?” Spencer asked, his eyes growing wide. “How the hell did I not know that?”

 

“I have no fucking clue. But now we have to hang out--hold on,” Hayley said, and held up her hand while she dug around in her dress pocket. She pulled out a Sharpie and uncapped it, before pulling Spencer’s arm up and scrawling something down on his wrist. It was a phone number, with her name on it. She recapped the pen. “So, whenever you get back to the States, text me or whatever. You can give it to Rochelle too, if you want.”

 

“Thanks,” Spencer said. “Should I give you mine?”

 

“If you want,” Hayley said, and turned her wrist over. Spencer took the Sharpie and wrote out his own number and then handed her Sharpie back over. The two promised to try and watch each other’s shows, since they were both in up and coming bands under the same label. Spencer went back to the rented Panic! bus with Sarah and Linda, and Hayley and Zac returned to their crew on the other side of the field. 

 

“She seems nice,” Sarah commented. “I’ll have to look up her band later.”

 

“How’d you end up with her number on your arm?” Linda asked, staring down at Spencer’s wrist. She raised an eyebrow. “You’re not…”

 

“No, it’s just… Paramore and Panic! are both Pete’s bands, and since we’re all kinda babies in the industry, we traded numbers to talk about music shit when we get back to the states,” Spencer said. “And also because she and Ry are both the only girls in their bands, and I’m sure Ry would appreciate another girl to talk to. Not that you guys aren’t cool, but you’re also not spending months on end in a van with a bunch of smelly dudes.”

 

“And Dallon,” Linda added. 

 

“Dallon doesn’t smell bad,” Sarah said. “They use Dove deodorant. They’re fine.”

 

“Anyone smells bad after a week on the road,” Spencer said. Neither Sarah nor Linda could argue with him on that, because neither of them had been on the road for more than a week. The first roadtrip Spencer made with Rochelle, Dallon, and Brendon didn’t compare to what touring across the country was like at all. That trip had only been a few days, and they knew that it would end. With touring, it felt like a never ending roadtrip, and there was also Jon in the van, and they were spending almost every night on stage, sweating and performing for an hour and a half. 

 

It was fun, and Spencer wouldn’t change anything, but it was also really gross. He’d severely underestimated what being on tour would be like, and now that it was getting warmer, he was a bit worried. The Brobecks van had a good air conditioning system, thankfully, but it had never had to compete with five smelly people for two whole months. Spencer hoped no one would die or puke during the summer tour they had after this festival. 

 

* * *

 

**October 8, 2009; London, England.**

 

Spencer was drunk. Like, really drunk. But he was with Linda and Gwyn and two of Gwyn’s friends (both of whom were really hot) and he was enjoying himself. He didn’t have work in the morning, and for whatever reason, the bars were all full of energy. 

 

“I’m gonna fucking hate myself in the morning,” Linda said, draping an arm over Spencer’s shoulders. She had a half empty glass of something in her other hand. “But whatever, it’s fall break, I’m allowed to have fun.”

 

“Hey, if your students are out getting hammered, why not join ‘em?” Spencer said, and tossed back the last of his drink. He pulled Linda out towards the middle of the dance floor, twirling her around and into the crowd. She laughed, her laughter fading into a resigned “ah, fuck” as the last of her drink tipped over and spilled to the already slick floor. Whoever cleaned this place needed to get fired and replaced, and soon. If there weren’t people pushing up against Spencer and Linda to keep them upright, they would have fallen over at least twice already. 

 

Spencer lost track of how long he and Linda were out dancing before they got separated. When he realised they’d split off in different directions, he paused and looked around, swaying a little as he scanned the crowd in search of her bright blonde hair. He relaxed when he saw her making out with a pretty looking brunette over by the bar, and went back to what he was doing. 

 

“You know, I don’t usually go for guys, but you’re making me rethink that,” a voice said behind Spencer. He turned around to come face to face with a woman who had jet black hair and soft blue eyes. Her lips were painted bright purple, and Spencer thought it was the perfect colour for her face. She winked and put her hands on his hips. “I’m Dahlia. You swing both ways, or just one?”

 

“I swing whatever way you need me to,” Spencer said, and pulled her in close. 

 

He wasn’t at all surprised when they ended up in a bathroom stall, Spencer on his knees and Dahlia moaning and tangling her fingers in his hair as he ate her out. It was messy, and he didn’t give her the option to get him off. He was drunk, but not drunk enough to forget that he wasn’t built like most men. Spencer didn’t want to make things awkward, and that was easier to do when he kept his pants on. 

 

Dahlia didn’t seem to mind, instead choosing to suck a hickey deep into his neck, blending the purple of her lipstick in with the purpling of Spencer’s skin. Spencer let her, running his fingers over her clit until she moaned and came again. He kissed her once on the lips and pulled away. She was smirking up at him. “Not bad for a Yankee.”

 

“American made and American laid,” Spencer said. It didn’t actually make sense, but he was drunk and horny now, and Dahlia just laughed at him before patting his cheek and flouncing out of the bathroom stall. Spencer followed her out, in time to see Linda and her girl coming in through the door. The two were too busy making out with each other to notice Spencer or Dahlia heading out. Spencer made a mental note to high five Linda in the morning. She’d probably roll her eyes at him, but whatever. Spencer was allowed to have a wonky sense of humour. He was a guy.

 

* * *

 

**May 6, 2006; Jersey City, New Jersey.**

 

The stage was outside, and Spencer kept squinting into the sun. He was going to fight whoever gave them the evening set. The sun was setting behind the crowd, most of whom were here waiting for Fall Out Boy’s set, and it was getting in Spencer’s eyes. He wished he had sunglasses. 

 

Brendon did not give a fuck about the sun, because he was dancing around stage and climbing on everyone the way he did at every show. Dallon and Rochelle had snatched some cheap sunglasses from a vendor earlier in the day, and Jon had a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. Somehow, Spencer had missed the memo that New Jersey was going to be sunny, and was suffering on his own. 

 

It wasn’t a bad set. It was cool when the crowd started singing along to Sins, and Brendon got to hold the microphone out to them. He was grinning like an idiot. Maybe they weren’t all there just to get a better glimpse of Pete. Maybe these kids were actually here for Panic! at the Disco. Spencer grinned and drummed harder, throwing himself into it and letting his overgrown bangs act as a sun shield. When he looked up next, Pete and Andy were hanging out beside the stage, strategically placed somewhere where the audience couldn’t see them. Spencer pushed his hair back from his face like he was a 50’s greaser guy and winked at them before launching into the next song. 

 

Pete and Andy were still there when Panic! finished their set and bowed their way off stage. They were joined by Gabe, the guy from Pete’s LA party who seemed to be sewn into his purple hoodie. He and Pete were both wearing obnoxious green shutter shades that Spencer secretly loved. They were tacky as hell, but they were better than squinting into the sun for hours. 

 

“You guys remember Gabe, right?” Pete said. He jumped in the air to try and ruffle Gabe’s hair, but Gabe was almost as tall as Dallon, and Pete ended up smacking the guy in the cheek. “He’s your babysitter. Behave. He also brought root beer.”

 

“Fuck yeah,” Jon said, and he and Gabe high-fived. 

 

Dallon lowered their sunglasses to glare down at Pete. “You realise I’m twenty-five, right? I don’t actually need a babysitter.”

 

“Don’t sweat it, Gabe’s a shitty babysitter anyway,” Pete said, and then launched himself onto his toes to smack a kiss on Gabe’s cheek. Gabe turned his head, though, and the two ended up kissing on the lips. It was weird, only because Pete was dating Ashlee Simpson and last time Spencer checked, Gabe and Pete weren’t still doing anything. 

 

Maybe he should have paid more attention to Rochelle’s LiveJournal shenanigans. 

 

Gabe ended up hanging with the five of them on the side of the stage. He did have root beer, and real beer for himself. He offered it, but Rochelle violently shook her head and Jon was the only one who took him up on it. Dallon kept eyeing Gabe and Jon’s beers, but they didn’t say anything. It didn’t seem to matter that Gabe and Dallon were the only one’s who were legally allowed to drink, because this was a rock concert, and everyone drank. 

 

Everyone except for Panic! at the Disco, but there were a lot of reasons for that. Rochelle didn’t drink because of her dad, Spencer didn’t drink because of Rochelle’s reasons, and Brendon didn’t drink because there was still a small part of him that worried about his parents finding out what he did in the band. Not that Brendon’s parents had contacted him in the two years that Spencer had known him, but whatever. Brendon would stop being paranoid about them eventually. It, like any other childhood trauma, would just take time. 

 

“So I’m actually from around here,” Gabe said. “I went to college at Rutgers, and met Alicia in one of my psych classes. She introduced me to Mikey, and that’s how I got free tickets to the earliest My Chem shows.”

 

“Did you let Mikey and Alicia go to Midtown shows for free, then?” Dallon asked. They raised an eyebrow. Spencer wondered if there was anyone Dallon had let into a Brobecks show for free. They’d never had a real boyfriend during their time at BYU, but maybe. Dallon was definitely the romantic type. 

 

Gabe waved his hand. “Ehh, once or twice. Mikey was more interested in bands he’d never heard before. Alicia was into it, though. I think Mikey only showed up because he thought the two of us were gonna run away together without him or something.”

 

“That’s how we formed as a band, actually,” Rochelle said. Spencer made a face at her. Other than the awkwardness between him, Brendon, and Dallon at the beginning, there hadn’t been any love triangles. She winked back at him from behind her bottle of root beer. “Spencer was afraid that Jon was some kind of internet serial killer, so when I found Dallon and Brendon on Craigslist and asked them to drive me to Chicago to meet Jon, Spencer hitched a ride too, and then the five of us shared an apartment until we almost hated each other.”

 

“And now we all live in a van and really hate each other,” Jon said, tipping his drink towards Gabe and grinning. “But seriously, I love these guys. Even if they are a little strange sometimes and don’t appreciate the cold. Spencer, for example, thinks that anything under 60 is jacket weather.”

 

“Dude. What the hell, I trusted you,” Gabe said. He looked more distraught than needed. Spencer shrugged. It wasn’t his fault that he didn't handle the cold well. Just because he’d been born in Denver didn’t mean he had any attachment to it. He was a Vegas kid, through and through. 

 

Gabe shook his head. “I need you to understand something. This jacket? It’s for the sake of fashion. I’m warm as hell right now, but I’m not taking it off because it’s part of my look and I will die of heatstroke looking awesome if I have to. If you can’t see your breath, you don’t need a jacket. It’s not that cold.”

 

“Northerners are fucking wild,” Rochelle said. “I don’t know how you guys do it.”

 

“It requires a certain level of self-hatred, and a general disdain for your toes and fingers,” Dallon said. “I went to college in Utah for a year and a half. I saw what the cold did to people.”

 

Jon rolled his eyes. “It’s not a battlefield, Jesus. It’s  _ snow _ .”

 

“Snow is a battlefield when it’s all over my car and I can’t fucking see anything,” Gabe said. Jon nodded in agreement. Spencer thought back to the year in Chicago, and how intense that winter had been. The Brobecks van was constantly covered in snow, and it took at least ten minutes before the interior heated up once they got the car started. Spencer didn’t miss it. It was nice to not freeze his ass off while sitting in a running car. 

 

“You guys always made me ice off the windshield,” Brendon said. He pointed at all of them but Gabe. “Don’t think I forgot about that. Just because I’m hyper and I don’t like wearing clothes doesn’t mean I can’t get cold like the rest of you guys.”

 

“You didn’t complain about it,” Dallon said. 

 

“Yeah, because Spencer and Rochelle never fucking shut up about how their noses were gonna fall off!” Brendon exclaimed. Rochelle flipped him off, and he impulsively licked her finger. 

 

Rochelle rubbed her finger on Brendon’s arm. “Disgusting.”

 

“Look, if you put something in front of my face, I’m going to lick it.”

 

“Doesn’t mean it’s not disgusting,” Rochelle said. She looked up at Spencer through her bangs. “I don’t need to know all the places your mouth has been. I know who you’re dating.”

 

“I know who you’re dating and I still licked your finger,” Brendon said. 

 

“What the hell do you think I’m doing with Ry’s fingers?” Jon asked, scandalised. Dallon and Spencer just looked at each other, simultaneously deciding not to expose their kinky boyfriend. Brendon could expose himself if he really wanted to, but Spencer and Dallon weren’t going to do it for him. There was just too much to go into. 

 

“There’re a lot of options out there,” Gabe said. “Ever been on the internet.”

 

“Not everyone sends their friends weird porn for fun, Gabriel,” Jon deadpanned. Gabe grinned like he’d just won the lottery. Spencer worried about what shit he’d get if Gabe ever decided to consider them friends. He didn’t know anything about Gabe’s sexual preferences other than Mikey, Alicia, and Pete, but he could imagine some pretty weird shit. He and Rochelle had been curious teens once. Spencer still impulsively deleted his internet history, even if he hadn’t been doing anything sketchy on his laptop. 

 

“What kind of weird are we talking about?” Dallon asked, frowning slightly.

 

“I’ll forward some to you,” Jon said, waving it off like weird porn wasn’t important. It was a little important. 

 

Dallon sucked in a deep breath of fear. “I can’t wait.”

 

* * *

 

**October 8, 2009; London, England.**

 

“I fucking hate you,” Linda said from the door to the bathroom. She and Spencer had been switching out positions on the toilet for most of the morning. Both of them were hung over, and Spencer wanted nothing more than to brush his teeth, pop some Advil, and go back the fuck to sleep. On top of his hangover, the hickey on his neck was throbbing like he’d grown a second brain there and he was having a double migraine. 

 

“I hate myself; join the club,” Spencer said, and then retched a little. He was classy. Totally. At least Linda wasn’t going to judge him for it. “Is this why you’re a lesbian?”

 

“Because men are horrible influences and also disgusting? Yeah, it’s one of them. I also just really like women.”

 

“Hard same,” Spencer said. He stood up, shakily, and slowly made his way over to the sink to look at himself while Linda took his place. His skin was pale, and there were deep bags under his eyes. His eyes were also bloodshot, making the blue in his irises stand out more than usual. Spencer cringed at the state of his own hair. It was a mess. When he was sure he wasn’t going to puke again, he was totally taking a shower. 

 

He grabbed the bottle of mouthwash and poured some into a cup before sloshing it around in his mouth a little. It wouldn’t fix everything, but Spencer couldn’t stand the current taste in his mouth. He took two Advil once he spit out the mouthwash, and then splashed some water on his face for good measure. It didn’t fix anything, and now his face was wet. 

 

“I thought American’s could hold their alcohol better,” Gwyn said. She was standing out in the hallway, smirking because unlike Spencer and Linda, she’d only had a few drinks last night. 

 

Spencer attempted to glare, but furrowing his eyebrows made his headache worse so he just stuck his tongue out at her. “It’s quality versus quantity. And British alcohol sucks.”

 

“Irish beer is better, I will give you that,” Gwyn said. “But we know our scotch.”

 

“Were we even drinking scotch?” Linda asked. She was now sitting on the bathroom floor with her back against the wall and a tired look on her face. “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t scotch.”

 

“There’s your problem, then,” Gwyn said. “Do you two want me to go fetch coffee or whip up something for breakfast?”

 

“I’d love coffee,” Spencer said, even though he really wanted to go to sleep. 

 

“I’d love bacon,” Linda said. Spencer gave her a weak thumbs up, but the more he thought about it, the more the concept of bacon made him nauseous again. Maybe just coffee, until his body started working correctly again. 

 

“I’ll go fetch some coffee, and then make breakfast once I get back,” Gwyn said, and took both of their coffee orders for the Starbucks across the street. She told them to drink water, which Linda took her up on but Spencer didn’t. He crawled back into his bed and pulled the curtains closed, burrowing himself under the blankets. 

 

Linda crawled in next to him, sticking her legs under the blankets but staying upright. “You know, except for the hangover, this has been fun so far.”

 

“Is that because you got laid last night or because Gwyn and I are awesome company?”

 

“Both,” Linda said. Spencer poked his head out from under the covers to see if she was being serious. She was. She was just sitting there, her hair up in a messy bun, glasses on the end of her nose, and sipping a cup of water. “You got laid too, so don’t say anything.”

 

“I actually didn’t,” Spencer said. 

 

Linda raised an eyebrow. “So you and that girl just went into the women’s bathroom to what, gossip about the new hot bands?”

 

“No, I ate her out and like, fingered her and shit, but she didn’t do anything to me,” Spencer said. “It was my choice, I didn’t want to deal with the whole trans issue last night.”

 

“First of all, TMI. Second, that sucks,” Linda said. She reached down with one hand and stroked his hair back from his face. Spencer closed his eyes. It did suck, that Spencer couldn’t go out and have sex with hot strangers the way Linda or any of his cis friends could, but he wasn’t suffering. He still had Mikey Way, whenever Mikey Way was in the same part of London. 

 

“Is it bad that I miss Mikey?” Spencer asked. He stretched out under the covers. “Not in a sappy way. Just… it’s easier with him. He didn’t ask questions.”

 

“I don’t think it’s bad,” Linda said. “I think he’s a dick for cheating on his wife with you, but I don’t think it’s bad that you miss him. I can’t… I obviously don’t get it, because I’m not trans, but I can imagine how isolating it gets, having to explain yourself every time you want a partner.”

 

“This is the first time since I started transitioning that I’ve had to think about it,” Spencer said. “Before Dallon and Brendon, I was in high school, and people either thought I was a lesbian, or I thought I was a girl and it didn’t matter anyway.”

 

“You were having sex in high school?” Linda raised her eyebrows. 

 

“No, but I mean… we were all teenagers, and curious, and hormonal,” Spencer said. “Shit happened.”

 

“Jesus,” Linda said. “I didn’t even lose my virginity until I’d graduated high school, and you were running around kissing people.”

 

“I was not a slut.”

 

“I was not saying you were a slut.”

 

Spencer squinted up at her. Linda took a long drink from her cup of water. Spencer slowly sat up so that he was propped up on his elbows. Linda set the cup down on the nightstand. She frowned. “I wasn’t. I don’t slut-shame.”

 

“I know,” Spencer said. “I was just being an ass.”

 

“Of course you were,” Linda said, and smiled. Spencer grinned back. The Advil was starting to kick in, and Spencer was starting to feel more human again. He still needed a shower, but at least he didn’t feel like death had fucked him in the ass and then in his mouth. 

 

Gwyn came back with the coffee, and Spencer and Linda slowly made their way upstairs to the kitchen. Spencer brought the blanket with him, and wrapped himself up like a burrito on the couch with his latte. It was warm and foamy and smelled like happiness. He pressed his nose to the lid and ignored the weird look Linda was sending him. He liked the smell of coffee, so what? 

 

Gwyn gave him the same look when she came in with the food, and Spencer ignored her too. Spencer sipped on his coffee while the two women ate and got to know each other. Spencer wished--really, really wished--that Linda didn’t have to go back to Chicago tomorrow. It was fun, having both her and Gwyn together, and he’d missed her. He’d missed his family, and his ex band members, but Linda was different.

 

Linda was a bit of a wreck herself, working overtime to finish her degree and overwhelming herself to the point that she was super stressed out. Spencer believed in her, and knew that she’d do fantastic with whatever job she got, but his cheerleading didn’t reduce Linda’s stress. Seeing her ex-girlfriend all over the internet didn’t help either. 

 

Sarah Orzechowski, makeup artist and life coach, and Hayley Williams, Paramore, were the couple that everyone talked about. And Hayley had written  _ Misery Business _ , the most iconic, overplayed Paramore song, about Linda in a fit of teenage jealousy. It wasn’t confirmed or anything, but Linda wasn’t an idiot, and Spencer knew how musician’s minds worked, and it just made sense. When Sarah and Hayley had first met in passing in 2006, Sarah had been a cute scene girl with a prep for a girlfriend. 

 

Linda never had an emo phase. She played volleyball in college, and interned at a law firm. She was ambitious, and brilliant, but she wasn’t the kind of girl who spent her weekends at rock shows, messing up hair and makeup that took hours to get perfectly unkempt. 

 

Spencer wasn’t bitter about Sarah, and how things had ended with her and Linda. If anything, it had made Spencer and Linda’s friendship stronger, because they both had to watch their exes get a lot of screen time with someone else. And they were both civilians now, since Spencer didn’t know if he’d ever be able to go back into the public spotlight that came along with the music business.

 

* * *

 

**June 20, 2006; Atlanta, Georgia.**

 

“I might actually die,” Jon said. The band was currently stopped at a rest stop just south of Atlanta, refueling both the car and the people. It was hot and sunny, and humid as shit. Spencer touched his hand to his forehead, and his fingers came back glistening with sweat. He was glad he didn’t have to wear a binder anymore. He didn’t think he could handle the extra layer on a day like today. 

 

“Drink water,” Spencer said, and offered Jon the rest of his bottle. 

 

Jon took the bottle and poured it over his head instead of drinking it. Spencer shook his head. Brendon was shirtless and splayed out in the backseat of the van, Dallon was pumping gas and looking like an annoyed soccer mom, and Rochelle was inside, abusing the air conditioning. A truck with twin confederate flags flying off of it pulled into the gas station and took the pump on the other side of Dallon and the Brobecks van. Dallon’s scowl deepened, and the glanced back at Brendon for a moment. Brendon was on his back, giant sunglasses on, and not paying attention to anything around him. 

 

A man, a woman, and a chubby blonde kid got out of the truck. The man started pumping gas, and the kid took her mom’s hand and followed her into the store. 

 

Jon watched them go in, his jaw and shoulders tense. “Should we go check on Ry?”

 

“She’s probably just contemplating Gatorade flavours,” Spencer said. 

 

Jon had his sunglasses on, but Spencer could still feel the  _ are you that fucking dense _ look Jon was giving him. Spencer sighed, and nodded. Right. The confederate family. They were in the south, and things were different here. The people were nice, usually, but they tended to be a little backwards when it came to people like Rochelle, Spencer, and even Dallon. 

 

Jon stood up first, and tossed the empty water bottle into the trashcan next to them. “I should get my shoes from the van.”

 

“I hate to break it to you, but I think we left your shoes back in Texas,” Spencer said. “Don’t worry about it, though. We’re still in buttfuck nowhere. I don’t think anyone will care.”

 

“They better not,” Jon said, and strode barefoot across the gas station parking lot. Spencer followed him, pushing his sunglasses up onto his forehead as he followed Jon into the store. There was a tangible drop in temperature, and Spencer even shivered a little as he and Jon walked through the aisles, searching for Rochelle. 

 

Spencer heard a commotion coming from the back of the store, and tugged on Jon’s shirtsleeve. Jon glared in the direction of the noise and then followed Spencer over to it. 

 

The woman and her daughter were back by the soft drink machine, and the woman was clutching onto her daughter like someone had just tried to kidnap the little girl. Rochelle was standing a few feet away, holding a medium drink in her hand and looking somewhere between upset and royally pissed off. Jon immediately pushed past Spencer and went to her, putting his arm around her waist and glaring the woman down. “You doing okay, Rochelle? We were starting to worry about you.”

 

“Y’all faggots need to keep yourselves away from my daughter,” the woman spat out. The girl, at least, looked embarrassed about her mom. The woman just pulled her daughter in closer. “All y’all perverts and transsexuals are disgusting! God didn’t make you like that, and you’re ruining His creation! Damn perverts, keep your  _ lifestyles _ away from my kid!”

 

“She’s not doing anything!” Spencer said. “She’s just getting a fucking drink!”

 

“Watch your language,” the woman snapped. She turned her glare on Rochelle again. “And  _ he _ has no right to be parading about in a public place like this.”

 

“Rochelle has every right to be here,” Jon snapped. “Go fuck yourself.”

 

“What he said,” Rochelle said. She looked down at the kid, and her expression softened for a moment. “Sorry your mom’s such a bitch. You don’t have to be like her, and I promise it’ll get better for you one day.”

 

“Do not talk to my daughter!” the woman screeched, and pulled herself and her daughter back as though Rochelle had thrown acid at them. “Come on, Adriana, let’s get you somewhere safe.”

 

“Yeah, like child fucking services,” Jon spat. He moved forward, but Rochelle put her hand on his chest and he stopped. 

 

The woman looked Jon and Spencer up and down, sneering. “Your kind are all going to hell. God be with you.”

 

And with that, she whisked her child away, and Rochelle, Jon, and Spencer were left alone. Immediately, Jon pulled Rochelle in for a tight hug. Spencer gave them a moment and watched the mother and child disappear, and didn't miss how the kid looked back at him. Spencer remembered something his dad had told him years ago, when he’d just found out that Rochelle was getting bullied at school. Kids weren’t born mean; they always learn it from their parents. 

 

For that girl’s sake, Spencer hoped out she didn’t inherit her mother’s hatred. 

 

* * *

 

**October 29, 2009; London, England.**

 

Gavin had invited Spencer to come to his coworker’s Halloween party. Spencer accepted, because apparently England sucked at celebrating Halloween, and Spencer didn’t want to sit around all week moping about how boring everything was. He’d seen maybe three pumpkins in the last few weeks, and it was really starting to bring his spirits down. 

 

He and Mikey had hooked up again last week, and Mikey had brought Spencer and Gwyn some pumpkin flavoured scotch to try and get them into the season. It tasted like shit, which Spencer blamed on the scotch and Gwyn blamed on the pumpkin. Neither of them mentioned it to Mikey, because the bottle was shaped like a pumpkin and neither of them wanted to give it back. 

 

Gavin had told him that it wasn’t specifically a costume party, but most people came dressed up anyway. It would just be adults, and if Spencer wanted to bring alcohol, he could. Spencer brought the pumpkin scotch, but in a different bottle because he wasn’t risking the original. 

 

Spencer checked the address on his phone twice before pressing the button. An unfamiliar British voice came through the static, asking Spencer who he was, and Spencer stuttered out, “um, I’m… Spencer? It’s--I’m a friend of Gavin’s?”

 

“Oh, shite, you’re Spencer? Come on in, mate!” the voice said, and then the door to the flat clicked open and Spencer made his way up the stairs. He could hear music playing before he got to the door, which was unlocked, and quickly stepped inside. He made his way to the kitchen and dropped off the bottle of scotch before going off in search of Gavin. 

 

Spencer found him in the living room, dressed as a 50’s greaser and looking great. Spencer grinned and walked over. “Nice costume.”

 

Gavin jumped a little. “Oh, shit, I didn’t even hear you come up. You look fantastic yourself.”

 

“Thanks,” Spencer said. “I almost went with a sexy werewolf, but I couldn’t figure out how to make it work.”

 

“I wouldn’t have noticed the difference. You’re quite sexy, even in a garbage bag,” Gavin said, looking Spencer up and down appreciatively. Spencer didn’t mind. His costume wasn’t at all sexy, considering it was a full body fur suit, matching wolf ears, and then some face makeup skills he’d picked up after years of knowing both Rochelle and Sarah. But if Gavin liked it, Spencer wasn’t complaining. Gavin looked back up at Spencer. “Should I get you a drink?”

 

“I’d love one,” Spencer said. “Just… not the pumpkin scotch. It’s kind of gross.”

 

“You’ve already tried it?” Gavin asked. He looped his arm around Spencer’s, and Spencer slid his hand down until their hands were intertwined, and the two of them walked back to the kitchen together. 

 

Spencer winked. “I brought it.”

 

“You sly bastard,” Gavin said, and a gorgeous smile crossed his face. Spencer considered kissing him, but it was too early in the night to try anything, and besides, he still had fading scratch marks on his back from his last time with Mikey. He could tell that Gavin didn’t want anything casual, and Spencer didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. Spencer didn’t cheat, but he wasn’t inherently monogamous. 

 

The two ended up with beer (Irish) and found a spot on the couch with two other couples. The ended up playing Pictionary, which was a pain in the ass because Spencer couldn’t draw for shit. He had steady hands, but he didn’t know what anything looked like. 

 

He drew his next card, and winced a little. Someone in the universe was fucking with him. His card read  _ Person: Brendon Urie (Panic! at the Disco) _ . Spencer sighed, and started doodling his ex boyfriend while Gavin shouted out various names and the other couples tried to distract him. Spencer gave Brendon ridiculously big lips, because he remembered that Brendon’s lips were always swollen and bright pink. Like bubblegum. 

 

“Oh, fuck! It’s that one guy from that emo band!” Gavin exclaimed. “Shit, who is he?”

 

“There are a lot of guys from emo bands,” Spencer said as he started shading in Brendon’s hair. “You gotta be more specific.”

 

“Fall Out Boy?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Pete Wentz!”

 

“...he’s in Fall Out Boy.”

 

“Oh damn, really?” Gavin laughed. “I was not at all emo in secondary school. Or uni, for that matter.”

 

“I was,” Spencer said, and grinned up at Gavin through his hair. “You’re personally offending me by not knowing this.”

 

“Oh, fuck,” Gavin said, still grinning. “Brandon? I think? He looks like an absolute twink and is in that one odd band that broke up last year, I believe.”

 

“It’s Brendon, and yeah,” Spencer said. He looked down at his cartoon Brendon, and hoped to whoever was listening that no one would connect him back to that band. Spencer didn’t need that kind of attention. He just wanted to enjoy a nice Halloween party with a hot guy in a leather jacket. 

 

“Well?” one of the girls asked. She was a sexy vampire. “Aren’t you two going to celebrate finally winning a round?”

 

Gavin and Spencer looked at each other. Spencer shrugged. “Might as well.”

 

He leaned forward, holding Gavin’s face with his fur-covered gloves, and kissed him gently on the mouth. It was nice, but there weren’t fireworks or anything. He could sense Gavin smiling though, which meant he was doing something right. Spencer pulled back and looked at Gavin, really looked at him. He smirked. “How’s that for a Yankee?”

 

“I think Estelle said it best,” Gavin said, and kissed Spencer again. “I’m liking this American boy.”

 

* * *

 

**July 12, 2006; Cleveland, Ohio.**

 

Spencer was cuddled up against Brendon in their hotel bed, and Dallon was in the shower. His eyes were closed, and Brendon was softly singing the chorus to Footloose over and over again. Spencer nuzzled up against Brendon, and Brendon pressed a kiss to Spencer’s forehead before starting the chorus again. 

 

The moment was interrupted by a knock on the door. Spencer groaned and flopped over Brendon’s torso. “You get it; I’m comfortable.”

 

“Dude, you’re literally on top of me,” Brendon said. He laughed. “Just like with sex.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Spencer said, and then went to the door himself. It was Rochelle and Jon, both of them looking excited and relieved, and they didn't even acknowledge Spencer as they crossed the room with Rochelle’s laptop and joined Brendon on the bed. Spencer closed the hotel room door and turned around with his hands on his hips. He arched an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

 

“We found a house,” Jon said as Rochelle flipped open her laptop. Brendon was perched behind her, leaning over her shoulder. She smacked at his face while she typed in her password, and Jon pulled him over so that he wasn’t in her personal space. “In Seattle, for Ry and her dad and I. We’re gonna talk with the realtor tomorrow, and hopefully we’ll be able to move up there at the end of the tour.”

 

“Oh, hey, that’s awesome,” Spencer said. A part of him was hurt, because it meant that Rochelle would be moving away from him again, but it was for a good cause and Spencer could let it go. Besides, he wasn’t in high school and trapped in Las Vegas for the rest of his life. If Spencer ever wanted to move to Chicago or Seattle or anywhere else, all he had to do was ask Dallon and Brendon, and the three of them could start planning. 

 

“Come over here,” Rochelle said without looking up from her laptop. “I want to show you guys what it looks like. Is Dallon almost done?”

 

As if they had heard her asking, the water in the bathroom shut off. Spencer crossed the room, knowing Dallon would be out in their pajamas in just a minute, and climbed onto the bed with his boyfriend and his two other friends. Sure enough, Dallon came out a little bit later, and once Jon updated them, the also joined the rest of the band. Dallon hooked their chin over Spencer’s shoulder, and Spencer leaned against them while Rochelle pulled up the house. 

 

It was a first floor apartment, with two bedrooms and a bathroom and a half. It was on the water, reasonably priced, and apparently only two miles from the nearest hospital. The apartment itself wasn’t super exciting, nor did it feel like it was built for Rochelle and Jon, but it was still nice. And even though Spencer didn’t know a lot about house pricing, it didn’t seem that expensive. 

 

Spencer nodded in approval. “Looks pretty cool. Have you told your dad about it?”

 

“We wanted to get everything in order first,” Rochelle said. “I didn’t want to get his hopes up only for it to fall through, you know?”

 

Spencer nodded. He hoped that everything worked out okay. He wanted Rochelle to be happy. After all, she was his best friend. 

 

* * *

 

**July 28, 2006; Los Angeles, California.**

 

The coolest part about being friends with Pete Wentz, in Rochelle’s opinion, was that he didn’t mind the entire band crashing at his and Ashlee’s house during their week off tour. It was easier for them to hang out in LA than to go from Portland, to Las Vegas, and then all the way down to San Diego for their next show. Gas was expensive, and all five of them were tired of driving. 

 

Another cool thing about Pete was that he had a driver. The guy was paranoid about driving, or going anywhere alone, and so he’d hired a guy to drive him whenever he needed to go somewhere. Pete didn’t act like a douche about it, and actually invited his driver to come hang out and play board games with him, Ashlee, and Panic! one night. It was pretty fun, until someone suggested Monopoly. Monopoly never ended well, for anyone involved. 

 

It was around two in the afternoon, and Rochelle and Pete were hanging out on his roof. Pete was trying to teach her how to roll a blunt, even though Jon had tried multiple times before and Rochelle still sucked at it. She wasn’t super into weed, just because she didn’t trust herself on any kind of drug, but it was nice when she needed to calm down. 

 

“Wow, Jon was right,” Pete said when Rochelle fucked up for what must have been the thousandth time. “You really do suck.”

 

“No, you’re just a bad teacher,” she said, and started over. 

 

“I’m a great teacher, fuck you,” Pete said. “I taught Joe how to play guitar.”

 

“Pete,  _ you _ can’t even play guitar,” Rochelle said, and immediately dropped the weed. “Fuck.”

 

“Shh. I can play Wonderwall, and that’s all I’ll ever need to know.”

 

“You’re the worst,” Rochelle said. She started over. She was going to figure this out, even though the universe was trying to tell her that rolling a blunt was not one of her talents. She’d almost finished it when her phone starting ringing from her pocket. It was a default ringtone, which worried her, because she’d given everyone in her contacts a specific ringtone so she always knew who was calling. She handed the almost finished blunt off to Pete and pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans. “Hello?”

 

“Hello, is this Rochelle Ross?” the person on the other end of the line asked. 

 

“Yes,” Rochelle said. “Um, who is this?”

 

“I’m Dr. Brady from Mountain View hospital,” she said. There was something about her voice that made Rochelle very unsettled. Like something was wrong, and maybe her dad’s condition was too fragile to let him move from Vegas to Seattle. 

 

“Okay,” Rochelle said, slowly. “Is my dad okay?”

 

“That’s actually why I’m calling you today,” the doctor said. Rochelle remembered her, and how she resembled an older, shorter Linda Ignarro. Rochelle could see Dr. Brady making Linda’s disappointed face through the phone, and it relieved her stress for a moment. Then the doctor continued. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but unfortunately your father passed away this morning. It was very sudden, and painless, and we’re so sor--”

 

Dr. Brady’s voice faded off as realisation settled over Rochelle. Her dad was dead. He was never going to see Seattle again, and the apartment she and Jon had been looking at meant nothing. He’d died alone in a hospital bed in the city that sucked his soul out of him, and Rochelle hadn’t even said goodbye. She’d been naive, and thought that the doctors knew what they were talking about. Her dad was supposed to have four more months left, maybe five. 

 

“Rochelle?” Pete asked, quietly. “Is everything okay?”

 

“I need Jon,” she said, and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I need to tell him we’re not gonna be using that apartment in Seattle after all. My dad’s dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, thanks for reading! Please leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed it!


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'd post this on the 25th but I don't trust the former members of Panic at the Disco to actually recognise Pretty Odd and so I'm not going to detract from anything they may do. Jon's already posted, so, thank you Jon. 
> 
> This is part three of five. Part 4 comes out 06/22 and Part 5 comes out 07/27. Enjoy!

**July 30, 2006; Las Vegas, Nevada.**

 

Rochelle was alone. She was dressed in a simple black dress, not looking at the two older people beside her. Her grandparents hadn't cared about her dad while he was alive, nor had they cared about her, so she didn't understand why they'd bothered to show up. George Senior and Allison looked like a boring old military couple, with George Sr dressed up in all his military garb and looking sharp. 

 

They hadn't looked over at Rochelle during the funeral either. She'd done all the work, planning and scheduling everything over the past forty eight hours. She'd done most of it on the plane, and she hadn't even contacted Spencer's parents to let them know that she was back in Vegas. None of this felt real. 

 

At least the cemetery was pretty, and it wasn't super hot yet. Rochelle knew that soon she'd be sweating, because the temperature was supposed to get past 100 by noon, but for now she was comfortably warm as she watched the pastor and the two military officers bless her father's coffin. Rochelle was the first to stand and drop a rose down into his grave. She stood over it for a long moment, watching the astroturf blow gently in the breeze. It was surreal, standing here and holding back tears. 

 

A year ago, Rochelle wouldn’t have bothered to show up to her own father’s funeral. A year ago, she thought he hated her, and had considered herself an orphan. Now, she really was an orphan, a month shy of her twentieth birthday, and nothing seemed real anymore. Her mom was still out there, somewhere, but Rochelle wasn’t interested in finding her. She’d let her mom do the work, if her mom wanted to get her daughter back. Rochelle knew now that she could make it on her own. She wasn’t entirely alone, now, and she didn’t need a mom. 

 

Rochelle adjusted the strap on her purse and slowly drifted away from the other funeral guests. Most of them knew a version of Rochelle’s dad that she never got to meet. He’d been an alcoholic for most of his life, and all of Rochelle’s. There had been a few years, after Rochelle was born but before her mom left them, that he’d been sober, but Rochelle didn't have a clear memory of that time. Rochelle didn’t know if her dad’s drinking had caused her mom to leave, or if her dad had started drinking because her mom left them. 

 

It sucked. Rochelle’s childhood sucked, so she walked away from it. There were a thousand other gravestones here, and a thousand other stories. Rochelle didn’t know them, but she hoped that they were better than her own and her dad’s. 

 

Rochelle took off her shoes, letting her toes sink into the grass and the dirt as she walked. No one was paying attention to her, now that they were all trading old stories of when George Jr. hadn’t been a major fuck up. Rochelle rolled her eyes. Her dad wasn’t a fuck up, not because of his alcoholism. It sucked, of course, that she’d been raised by an alcoholic, but so much of Rochelle’s childhood could have been avoided if someone had noticed. There was no support, other than Spencer and occasionally his parents, but none of them were related to Rochelle, and so they couldn’t fix things. 

 

Biological families were overrated, really. Rochelle pushed her hair away from her face, and paused at a small grave. If she ever got married, and decided to have kids, she’d adopt them. Screw biology, screw blood relations. Love and support and genuine affection were what made families. Rochelle couldn’t give that to herself, but she could definitely give that to some other kid. 

 

She slammed her heel into the ground and whirled around when the name on the grave registered in her head. Rochelle dropped down into a crouch, looking at the grave and the dates on it closer. No fucking way, she thought to herself, tracing her fingers over the letters. No fucking way, indeed. There had to be a hundred cemeteries in all of Las Vegas. It was a big city, and a lot of people died here. The chance of Rochelle’s dad being  _ here _ of all places… it should have been impossible. 

 

But it wasn’t. Rochelle knew how statistics worked, even though she hated the class in high school. And there, sitting in front of her, was a gravestone that was three years, and almost two months old. Rochelle imagined what it would look like with flowers on it, in the dead of night. She swallowed, thickly. “We never met, but, uh, I’m sorry. About what happened to you. Dallon said a lot of nice things about you, by the way. You’d be proud of them, and of Brendon, too.”

 

The grave said nothing back. Of course it didn’t. Dead people didn’t talk, and Breezy Douglas was very much dead. Rochelle just couldn’t believe that Breezy and Rochelle’s dad were only forty feet away from each other. 

 

* * *

 

**November 2, 2009; London, England.**

 

Spencer had forgotten what it was like to be deliriously happy. He kept looking at his phone while he was at work, and his boss kept giving him nasty side-eye for it, but Spencer couldn’t help himself. He was an actual, functioning adult with an actual, functioning relationship. He and Gavin weren’t serious or anything, but they were going out to dinner with two of Gavin’s friends on Friday. Saying that Spencer was looking forward to it would be an understatement; he was excited to get to do this kind of thing. 

 

Spencer had never dated anyone as an adult. He, Brendon, and Dallon had been their own trio for years, and before them, Spencer had never been in any kind of real relationship. He’d gone out on dates with a couple different people, but none of them had ever asked for a second date. Spencer wasn’t behind in the dating world, but it had been a while since he’d gotten to do all the fun, awkward first date thing. 

 

He wondered if the Halloween party counted as their first date, or if that was just Gavin testing things out. Spencer checked his phone again. No new texts. It was fine; Gavin had his job at the hospital and that was a lot more stressful than working in a record shop. 

 

Spencer headed home at the end of his shift, and pulled up his laptop to make sure the remnants of his old band weren’t doing anything stupid. They weren’t, and the only new information Spencer got was that Brendon and Dallon had found a house in LA, and that Rochelle and Jon were still staying under the radar in Seattle. Jon and Rochelle seemed like they had their lives together, now that they weren’t dealing with the other three, and Brendon and Dallon, according to the pictures fans had posted online about a week ago, were having the time of their lives with Pete and Ashlee and their kid in Disneyland. 

 

There wasn’t a Disneyland or Disneyworld near London. The closest one was in Paris, and Spencer didn’t want to go to Paris. He didn’t get the appeal. He was sure it was gorgeous, but he didn’t speak French, and he’d heard that French people were assholes. 

 

Besides, Spencer had Gwyn and Gavin and a new life in London. He didn’t need Disney. He closed his laptop and checked his phone again. Gavin had texted him a few minutes ago, saying he was on break and looking forward to Friday, and then there was another text. From Mikey. Asking if Spencer wanted to go out for drinks tonight, and then sex. Spencer bit his lip, not sure how to respond. He knew, especially after Brendon and Dallon, that he was polyamorous, but he didn’t know how Gavin felt on the topic. 

 

Spencer took a deep breath and called Gavin, hoping he’d still be on his break. 

 

“Spencer? You know you’re allowed to text back, right?” Gavin said, laughing a little breathlessly into the phone. Spencer smiled into his shoulder. What a dork. 

 

“I know, don’t worry,” Spencer said. “I just wanted to talk to you about something. Didn’t think it would work too well over text.”

 

“It’s not bad, is it?” Gavin said, and Spencer shook his head even though Gavin was across the city and would have no idea what Spencer was doing. Spencer did his best to explain the situation, leaving out who Mikey was and the specifics of their relationship. He said that they were casual, but that he wasn’t in love with Mikey or anything, and didn’t see himself ever being in love with Mikey. There was a long pause, and Spencer could hear something beeping faintly in the background. Finally, Gavin spoke. “It’s casual, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Spencer said. “Just… whenever one of us is bored. Like, friends with benefits, I guess. And if you’re not comfortable with it, I can end it. It’s totally cool, whatever you’re good with, I’m good with.”

 

“Well, if it’s not serious,” Gavin said. “You and I aren’t official, and I wouldn’t want to rush anything, or pressure you, so I suppose so. Tell him, though, that if he ever does catch feelings for you, you’ve got your eye on someone else, alright?”

 

“Of course,” Spencer said, smiling. “I’ll make sure he knows I’m not looking for a real boyfriend.”

 

“I’ll see you on Friday, Spence, I’ve got to get back to work,” Gavin said. 

 

“Go be good. Save the world and all that,” Spencer said, and didn’t tack on an  _ I love you _ , because Gavin wasn’t Brendon or Dallon, and it was too early for that. They weren’t even calling each other boyfriends yet. Spencer didn’t want to freak Gavin out. 

 

Spencer waited until Gavin hung up before he hung up himself. He texted Mikey back, saying he was down for it, and then the two argued back and forth for a bit on which bar to meet up at. Mikey was paranoid about being seen, which wouldn’t be an issue if he wasn’t cheating on his wife and Spencer was hiding from all of the British Panic! fans. There were a lot of gay Panic! at the Disco fans. Spencer wasn’t surprised at all; the band was made up of four bisexual members and Dallon, who was just plain gay and rocked it like the badass they were. 

 

Spencer lit a joint and smoked it through, trying to get all of the thoughts of his exes out of his mind. It wasn’t fair that he ended up the fifth wheel in the split. Dallon and Brendon had each other, and Rochelle and Jon had each other as well, and Spencer was just the leftovers. 

 

He swallowed back a sob that had come out of nowhere and frowned at himself. If he was going to be an emotional wreck, maybe going out and drinking wasn’t the smartest plan. He took a deep breath and held it, feeling himself calm down, and breathed out the smoke. Okay. Maybe he could keep his shit together. He’d already planned tonight, and it would suck balls if it all fell through. 

 

Spencer deleted Panic! at the Disco and all his former band member’s names from his Google search history. He logged out of his Twitter account while he was at it, and set the account so that he wouldn’t get any email notifications. He and the rest of the band had all gotten Twitters back in February, since a lot of their fans were migrating over from MySpace now. Spencer had stopped using his after the wedding, because he was afraid that people would start tweeting him if they were reminded of his existence. 

 

Spencer liked not getting a bunch of questions he wasn’t ready to answer. That was part of the reason he was still sleeping with Mikey, even though both of them knew it was a bad idea. 

 

Spencer showed up at the bar a little after nine. He’d left a note for Gwyn saying that he was going out and would be out late, so that she wouldn’t freak out and call the police or anything. Gwyn didn’t seem like the type to call the police in a panic, but then again, Spencer had never really seen her freak out. Gwyn was terrifyingly calm, and she didn’t smoke half as much as Spencer did.

 

He paid the entrance fee and headed in, ordering himself a beer while he waited on Mikey to show up. He didn’t know what the plan was for tonight, or if they’d stay out for long before heading back to Spencer’s apartment, but he knew Mikey would take his time. 

 

Not long after he’d gotten his beer, a twinky guy a few inches taller than Spencer slid up beside him. The guy had a septum piercing and frosted ends, and Spencer bit back a laugh. His eighteen year old self would have loved to look like this. Skinny, a strongly defined jawline, and conventionally attractive while still being obviously into dudes. The twink looked Spencer up and down. “What’s a hottie like you doing over here all alone?”

 

“Waiting on someone,” Spencer said, because he genuinely wasn’t interested. This guy wasn’t his type. He wasn’t bad looking, but he reminded Spencer of all the parts of himself that weren’t perfect. Just because Spencer had brought his strap on and had it tucked conveniently inside his pants, didn’t mean he wanted to take a hotter stranger into the bathroom and fuck him. Spencer shrugged. “Sorry.”

 

“I’m not opposed to two at once,” the guy said, and winked. He was watching Spencer, waiting for him to choke on his beer in surprise, but Spencer wasn’t that kind of guy. 

 

Spencer licked his upper lip. “Yeah, again, sorry. I did the whole threeway thing. Didn’t work out too well last time.”

 

“Well, what  _ are _ you--oh, damn,” the guy said, looking behind Spencer. Spencer glanced over his shoulder, and sure enough, there was Mikey Way, standing against the bar and smelling strongly of cigarettes. His sunglasses were up on his head, for once, and he was definitely undressing Spencer with his eyes. Spencer took a long drink from his beer and tried to remain calm. The guy coughed. “I can see why you’re not interested in anyone else. Enjoy your night, babes. Don’t forget the condoms.”

 

_ We’re going to be using a lot, apparently _ , Spencer thought, and ordered himself and Mikey two Black Russians. Mikey downed his like it was a glass of water and he had just finished running a marathon, and Spencer drank his like a normal person while Mikey downed a second. So, sloppy drunk sex. Cool, Spencer was down for that. He was especially down for it if Mikey was still coherent enough to scratch down Spencer’s thighs. 

 

Spencer didn’t have a thing for pain, really. It was just that one part of his body that liked it. 

 

They were making out against the wall of the men’s bathroom a few drinks later, and Mikey’s mouth tasted like vodka and cigarettes and something else Spencer didn’t recognis, but it reminded him vaguely of skiing with his parents when he was a little kid. And that was one weird feeling to have when making out with Mikey fucking Way. Spencer bit down hard on Mikey’s lower lip, and Mikey groaned, throwing his hips forward against Spencer. Spencer turned his head, pressing his face against Mikey’s neck for a moment because, fuck, Mikey was hard and pressed right against Spencer, and every time he moved it felt like Spencer was about to come in his fucking pants. 

 

Spencer pressed the flat of his hand against Mikey’s stomach. “Apartment. Now. Bathroom sex is nasty.”

 

“You really want to walk through London looking like that?” Mikey growled, before walking Spencer back into the first stall and dropping to his knees. 

 

Spencer tangled his fingers in Mikey’s hair. He closed his eyes and breathed for a second. “Yeah, okay. Good point. If you take longer than me, though, you’re on your own.”

 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Mikey said, looking up from under his hair, and yanked Spencer’s pants down before covering him with his mouth. Spencer’s thighs were tense, shaking as Mikey teased him and sucked him down. Spencer glanced down, not at all surprised to see Mikey’s hand in his pants, jacking himself off at the same time that he blew Spencer. 

 

Spencer shifted his grip on Mikey’s hair, tilting his head back so that Mikey had a better angle. It didn’t take long after that for Spencer to come with a long, shallow moan. He swiped his tongue across his lower lip, tasting blood from where he’d bitten down too hard. 

 

Mikey stood up, and Spencer yanked him in for a bruising kiss while reaching down to wrap his hand around Mikey’s dick as well. It felt different from a cis guy’s dick. It was smoother, and there was a long bump on one side from the scarring. Other than that, it was just like getting any other guy off, and Spencer knew how to do that. He pressed his thumb down over the head and rotated it slowly, adjusting the pressure as he went. 

 

Mikey whined and shivered, coming over his and Spencer’s hands. Spencer kept kissing him, chasing the taste he couldn’t name, as Mikey came down from his orgasm. The two men wiped themselves down and checked each other over to make sure that nothing was super obvious, and then headed towards the exit. Spencer, without thinking, started towards the subway station that lead towards his apartment, but Mikey grabbed his arm.

 

Spencer stumbled, his focus going in and out. There was no way he was actually drunk, because Spencer knew his limits and he hadn’t hit them yet. It was probably the weed he’d smoked earlier fucking with him. He ran a hand through his hair and looked at Mikey. “What?”

 

“We’re not going to your apartment,” Mikey said. “I caved, and finally started renting a place… and I figured you might want to know where it is.”

 

“You know we’re just fucking, right?” Spencer asked, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t need to give me the keys to your place or anything.”

 

“I know what we are. I just figured you might want to fuck somewhere where no one else will be around,” Mikey said. Spencer nodded. Gwyn’s room was on the other side of the apartment, but Spencer was still self-conscious about how much noise he made whenever he was having sex with someone at the apartment. 

 

Spencer followed Mikey down into the underground. He tried not to look at anyone else who was down there. It was still early in the night, and Spencer and Mikey looked a little out of place. They definitely looked like a gay hookup waiting to happen, which they were, but Spencer didn't want the entirety of London to know that. He liked to be subtle sometimes. He wasn't paying attention to where they were going, because he knew he didn't have to. If Mikeu had his own place, that meant that Spencer could spend the night there and not have to worry about getting back to his apartment in the middle of the night when he was still drunk. 

 

They got off at a stop north of the city, and Mikey took the lead again. He lit a cigarette and almost dropped it. Mikey turned and looked over his shoulder at Spencer. “Did you want one?”

 

“Sure,” Spencer said, even though he wasn't much of a smoker. Rochelle an Brendon did it occasionally, but Spencer had never seen the appeal. He still didn't, but Mikey's cigarette didn't taste too bad, so Spencer smoked it while he followed Mikey the last two blocks to his apartment. 

 

It was a nice building, nicer than where Spencer was staying, and it was gated off. Mikey's apartment was on the second floor, and there was an elevator, unlike where Spencer lived. He leaned against the wall of the elevator and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to center himself. He needed another drink; he was on the wrong side of drunk and it was starting to make him think too much. 

 

Mikey nudged his arm. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah. Just thinking too much,” Spencer said, opening his eyes again. Mikey gave Spencer a look that the younger man couldn't read and then walked out of the elevator as the doors opened. Spencer followed him again, and stood back while Mikey unlocked the door to room 205. The apartment barely looked lived in, but it smelled like cigarettes and so Spencer knew Mikey had been there. 

 

There was an opened bottle of wine on the kitchen counter, along with two glasses. One was almost empty, and the other looked untouched. Mikey moved past Spencer to the cabinets. “Did you want any? Gabe brought it over from the states.”

 

“Gabe?” Spencer asked, and reached around Mikey to grab himself a glass. “As in  _ Gabe Saporta  _ Gabe?”

 

“Do we know any other Gabe’s?” Mikey asked. He had a point. Spencer poured himself a glass of Gabe's wine and took a long drink from it. He wasn't much of a wine drinker, but it tasted good. And it was free, on top of that. Free alcohol was always good alcohol, only because Spencer didn't have to pay for it himself. 

 

Spencer swirled his glass around, because he'd seen pretentious wine drinkers do that before and he thought it would make him look cool. “Is Gabe still here?”

 

“He should be,” Mikey asked. “We were talking before I went to get you.”

 

Spencer waited. He knew that Gabe and Mikey (and Pete and Alicia, at one point) had been a thing, and that Mikey had no qualms about sleeping with multiple people at once. He didn't want to assume, though. Gabe might have better morals than Spencer and Mikey combined. He might not want to have sex with a married man. 

 

“Don't take this the wrong way,” Mikey said. “But would you be open to a threesome?”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Spencer said, and finished the glass of wine. He set the glass down beside the other empty one and leaned back against the counter. “Why not?”

 

Spencer heard footsteps coming from above, and then a few moments later, Gabe Saporta walked into the room. He looked at Spencer, and there was a moment where Gabe didn't seem to recognise him. Spencer relaxed, then, because if Gabe couldn't recognise Soencer after only four months of being away, then he didn't need to worry about any fans recogising him either. 

 

Then Gabe frowned and turned to Mikey. “What is Spencer doing here?”

 

“He lives here,” Mikey said. And then, “in London, I mean. We don't live together. It's not like that.”

 

Gabe glanced to Spencer again and then crossed his arms and started speaking Spanish to Mikey. Spencer couldn't follow it. He'd taken Spanish in high school, but he didn't remember much of it, and from what he could make out, he didn't want to know what Gabe was saying to Mikey. Gabe sounded pissed. Spencer could translate that much. 

 

It got weirder when Mikey started responding back in Spanish. It was kind of hot, but it was mostly confusing. Last time Spencer checked, Mikey was Italian, not Spanish, and there wasn't a huge Spanish speaking community in New Jersey the way there had been one in Vegas. 

 

Spencer helped himself to a second glass while the two older men argued. He couldn't understand what they were saying, except for the occasional word, but he didn't know what else to do with himself. 

 

“I'm taking him home,” Gabe said, back to English. He was glaring at Mikey, and still angry. He pulled a set of rent-a-car car keys out and twirled them around his finger. “You’re staying here. Don't do anything stupid while I'm out.”

 

Mikey rolled his eyes. “When have I ever done anything stupid without you.”

 

Gabe made a face that Spencer didn't follow, and turned to address Spencer. He didn't say much, other than asking how much Spencer had had to drink and if he still knew his address. Spencer didn't get what the big deal was, especially since Gabe was known to be a party guy. Maybe things were different when Mikey was involved. Maybe Gabe was the responsible one of the two of them, and he didn't have to be like that with Pete. 

 

Gabe's rental car wasn't anything spectacular. It smelled like a brand new car and there was a GPS plugged in to the dashboard. Gabe turned on the radio and fiddled with it for a few moments before stopping on the alt rock station that played at the record store Spencer worked at. 

 

“Mikey shouldn't be involving you with this shit,” Gabe said. “It’s not you're business.”

 

“I know, which is why I'm not getting into his business,” Spencer said back. He didn't know why Gabe was so up in arms about everything. It was a threeway. If he didn't want to be a part of it he could have left at any time. It wasn't like Mikey or Spencer would ignore his wishes. He stared out the front window while  _ Headfirst Slide _ started up on the radio. At least England liked Folie a Deux. “You didn't have to be a part of this, either. There's this thing called walking away. You might want to try it.”

 

Gabe muttered something in Spanish under his breath. All Spencer picked up was the phrase “complete fucking idiot,” which he assumed was addressed towards him. Gabe tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel. “It… it isn't as easy as you make it out to be. I'd just gotten off the phone with Alicia when you two came back, and… I can't be that guy. I know that she and Mikey shouldn't have gotten married in the first place, but it's not my job to be the asshole who's Alicia's friend one moment and then sleeping with her husband the next. I'm not that guy.”

 

“Weren't you guys all together at one point, though?” Spencer asked. “How's this any different?”

 

“It's different because people let feelings get involved and half of us got hurt while the other half got married,” Gabe said. He frowned. “It'd be like Brendon and Dallon getting married without you, and then knowing that one of them was constantly cheating because they were trying to cheat with you.”

 

“Complicated,” Spencer said, because he didn't have anything else to offer. He wasn't in love with Brendon or Dallon, or at least that was what he was telling himself, so it wasn't an equal comparison. “You're not secretly still in love with Mikey, are you?”

 

“I'm not,” Gabe said. The second part-- _ Pete is, though _ \--didn't need to be said. Spencer didn't have to be Rochelle's ex best friend to know that. The lyrics on IOH didn't lie. Gabe put on the blinker. “Doesn’t mean I didn't get hurt, though. Mikey gets Alicia, Alicia gets whatever parts of Mikey she can, and Pete and I get fucked over.”

 

“Sorry,” Spencer said. He felt like he was missing something, but he was drunk and a little annoyed because he thought he'd have been having sex by now, so he didn't push it. He'd think it all through tomorrow morning, when he wasn't drunk and none of this would matter as much. 

 

* * *

 

**September 5, 2006; Las Vegas, Nevada.**

 

It was Dallon's idea for the three of them to get an apartment. They'd gone back and forth on whether they wanted the apartment to be in Chicago or in Las Vegas, but Las Vegas had won in the end because of the price. Spencer's parents were also only twenty minutes away, which meant that if any of the three of them wanted a genuine home cooked meal, they didn't have to go far. 

 

The apartment itself wasn't bad, either. They got a two bend, two bath apartment so that they wouldn't be tripping all over each other, and so that they could have a room for all their music gear when they weren't touring. 

 

“It's weird to be back here,” Brendon said. He was perched on the edge of the couch, watching while Dallon and Spencer played MarioKart on the floor. Spencer was significantly better at it than Dallon, but he was trying to go easy on his partner. Brendon was going to play the winner. “Like, last time I lived here it was with my parents. Do you think they know I'm back?”

 

“Doubt it,” Spencer said. “Unless they're following one of the candies that have popped up recently.”

 

“I hate those,” Dallon said. They frowned, concentrating on the game for a moment. “It's not like the Brobecks ever got to where we are, but Jesus Christ… there are some dedicated people out there. I'm surprised they haven't showed up outside the Chicago apartment yet.”

 

“We have to be Fall Out Boy levels of famous for that, and luckily we're not there yet,” Spencer said. The fansites were cool, because it meant people not on MySpace and LiveJournal cared about the band, but they also freaked Spencer out a little. Some of them were calling Spencer a lesbian because of his hair, which made Spencer feel gross for reasons he didn't understand. There was nothing wrong with being a lesbian, clearly, because Linda was a lesbian and Spence considered her one of his bend friends. It was just the whole idea of Spencer's hair making him look like a gay girl. He didn't know why it bothered him, or why the fans had decided that he was the one with the lesbian hair. He and Brendon had almost the same haircut, but no one was calling Brendon a lesbian. 

 

“Can't wait until they start writing fanfiction of us all fucking each other,” Brendon said. “Do you think they'll leave Ry out because she's a girl and fangirls hate the idea of girls having sex with guys?”

 

“They've already started writing fanfiction about us,” Dallon said. “Ah, shit. I almost had a blue shell.”

 

Spencer laughed. “Suckaaaah.”

 

“Eat me,” Dallon said in response. Spencer winked at them. Dallon elbowed Spencer to try and get him off track, but Spencer was too good at MarioKart to fall for that. Dallon frowned. “The fanfiction isn't even that good. And they're turning Brendon into a weeboo. Or something. It's an anime term, that's all I know?”

 

“Weeaboo?” Brendon asked, and Dallon nodded. Brendon leaned inbetween the two of them and batted his eyelashes at Spencer. “Oh, Spencer-san, do I look like a weeaboo-kun to you?”

 

“I'm calling the police,” Spencer said without looking at his boyfriend. “And then Pete and Rochelle, because one of them is to blame for you guys knowing anything about anime.”

 

“There's anime porn,” Dallon said. “It's weird. All porn is weird, actually. I never got the point if it.”

 

“I don’t even want to know how you know about  _ anime porn _ ,” Spencer said, and then won the game because he was awesome like that. He still leaned over and kissed Dallon, because he was a gracious winner and he would take any excuse to kiss Dallon (or Brendon, but Brendon hadn’t been playing). Dallon kissed Spencer back before handing the control over to Brendon and moving back to the couch. Spencer grinned at his boyfriend. “Now I’m gonna kick your ass.”

 

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Brendon said. “While you were drumming, I mastered this game.”

 

“As if,” Spencer said, because he knew it was easy to distract Brendon. Brendon was a quick learner at everything, video games included, but he hadn’t been playing for as long as Spencer had. Spencer had grown up playing late night video games with Rochelle whenever she came over to get away from her dad. It was different now, playing because he could instead of playing to keep Rochelle from thinking too much about her dad.

 

Spencer hoped that Rochelle was doing okay. She’d been different after her dad had died. She’d been quiet during the last few shows of their tour, and then she’d spent a lot of time in their assigned tent during the festivals they played at. Spencer wasn’t sure if she wanted space from everyone, or just from the people who didn’t know her well enough to know what was going on. He’d done his best, but Rochelle could be hard to read sometimes. This was one of those times. 

 

“Fuck,” Spencer said. He’d been thinking too much, and now Brendon was ahead of him. 

 

“Suck it,” Brendon said, and moved into first place. Dallon snorted from behind the two boys, and Brendon lifted one hand from the control long enough to flip them off. “Shush. You know he’d do it.”

 

“No I wouldn’t,” Spencer said, even though he probably would. He was pretty good at sucking dick, which was not something he could put on his resume. Unless he went into porn, which he wasn’t planning on doing. 

 

Spencer frowned, and focused back in on the game. He wasn’t going to let Brendon win. That wouldn’t be fair. Spencer didn’t have a lot going for him, so he tended to over-compensate by being extremely competitive when he could. Some people would consider it a bad habit, but Spencer didn’t. He wasn’t competitive to the point of being a douchebag about it, and that was what mattered. 

 

The three of them had a landline, because that seemed like an adult thing to do and the apartment complex allowed for it. Spencer was reminded that their landline worked when it started ringing and Brendon jumped, accidentally sending his kart into the wall. Spencer cackled and sped forward. He was almost caught up to the person behind Brendon when Brendon got off the wall and started driving again. 

 

“I’ll get it,” Dallon said. Spencer nodded. It was probably one of his parents, checking to make sure that the three of them were still doing well. He’d pay attention once he’d beaten Brendon. That was more important. 

 

Brendon won, and Spencer dropped to the floor in a dramatic cry of failure. Brendon laughed at him, because he was a totally supportive boyfriend and not at all secretly an asshole. Spencer grabbed Brendon by the calf and used his boyfriend to pull himself back up, only to get uncomfortably close to Brendon and stare him down. Spencer narrowed his eyes and made a face. “You’ll pay for that.”

 

“Spank me,” Brendon said, and gently kissed Spencer’s nose. 

 

“Stop talking about spanking, I’m talking to Spencer’s dad,” Dallon said, followed by, “I don’t know, honestly. It’s probably one of those new meme things kids are coming up with.”

 

“You’re not that fucking old, babe,” Spencer said, and then reached around and gently smacked the top of Brendon’s ass because he could. Brendon squeaked, and Dallon raised their eyebrows at them both. Spencer got up off the floor and crossed over to where the phone sat on the corner of the kitchen counter. “Why’s my dad calling, anyway?”

 

“He’s inviting us over for dinner,” Dallon said. “Saturday, the ninth. Apparently your dad’s grilling again?”

 

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Great. That means everything’s gonna be burnt. Dad’s good at cooking, but he can’t grill for shit, and ever since he and mom decided to try going vegetarian… let’s just say I’m glad I don’t live at home anymore.”

 

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being vegetarian,” Brendon said, joining the other two in the kitchen. Brendon had been a vegetarian, soon to be vegan, for most of the time they’d all been a band. Brendon was also the kind of guy who cried during Disney movies and kept trying to bring home sad looking dogs. Spencer would let him, except that the apartment wasn’t animal friendly, and even if it was, the three of them were on tour too much to take care of an animal. 

 

“I know, but my parents are overdoing it,” Spencer said. He kissed Brendon’s forehead. “You’ll see. Trust me on this.”

 

* * *

 

**November 4, 2009; London, England.**

 

One of Gwyn’s friends did slam poetry, and so Gwyn had dragged Spencer out to watch the show with her. Spencer wasn’t sure if watching someone read poetry was the right terminology, but he wasn’t there to be correct. He was there to listen to poetry and act like he knew what was going on. 

 

He was still trying to make sense of what had gone down two nights before. He’d figured out that Gabe knew about Mikey cheating on his wife, and that Gabe had--at one point--been okay with it. Gabe was also in love with someone, but not Mikey. It was confusing. Spencer was pretty sure that the headache he’d had yesterday was only half because of a hangover, and the other half was from him trying to figure out the mess that was Gabe, Mikey, Pete, and Alicia. 

 

They were all way too complicated. Spencer hadn’t been that complicated when he’d been dating Brendon and Dallon, so either the three of them were the anomaly and all poly relationships were a clusterfuck, or Mikey’s exes were all ridiculous and needed to get locked in a room to yell about their feelings. 

 

“You look deep in thought,” Gwyn said, nudging Spencer with her elbow. She had a glass of red wine and he had a glass of beer, and anyone who looked at them without knowing them would probably think that they were a straight couple. “What’s going on up there?”

 

“I ran into a weird series of exes the other night,” Spencer said. “Just trying to sort it all out in my head.”

 

“Your exes or someone else’s?”

 

“Someone else’s,” Spencer said, and took a drink from his beer. “My exes are pretty easy to explain.”

 

“Well, you could always write poetry about it,” Gwyn said, and motioned towards the girl up on the stage. The girl looked a little older than Spencer, and had bangs even more tragic than Linda’s had been. Spencer tried not to judge his friends on their haircuts (he’d grown up with Rochelle, after all), but Linda’s choppy, layered bangs were just… odd. He didn’t get it. Maybe it was a lesbian thing. 

 

“I’m not much of a writer,” Spencer said. “That was more Ry’s thing.”

 

“Maybe she should try her hand at poetry, then,” Gwyn said. “Or is she one of your American friends that you don’t talk to anymore?”

 

“She’s… she’s her own category,” Spencer said. There were probably a lot of people who thought that he and Rochelle had once been in love with each other. They were best friends, and they’d be platonic soulmates if such a thing even existed. Spencer didn’t believe in any kind of soulmate. He just didn’t see how it would work out, practically speaking. 

 

Gwyn raised an eyebrow. “She sounds fascinating. Do you think you could introduce us one day?”

 

“She, uh,” Spencer said. “She lives in Seattle. With her husband.”

 

“Ah,” Gwyn said. Spencer had the urge to tell her that Rochelle wasn’t straight, she was bisexual just like the two of them, but that wasn’t his business. It didn’t matter that Rochelle’s sexuality was public for anyone who cared to Google it. Spencer had spent too much of his teenage years getting picked on for being bi and trans to out someone without their permission. 

 

He focused his attention on the poets instead. Gavin had been ignoring his texts all day. Spencer didn’t know if it was because he was busy or because he was pissed off at Spencer. Spencer couldn’t think of a reason for Gavin to be pissed at him, especially since he and Mikey hadn’t even fucked. He could understand the guy being uncomfortable with the whole polyamory thing, but Spencer hoped that Gavin would tell Spencer if he ended up having an issue with it. 

 

“Am I a bad person?” Spencer said. He was drinking a Guiness. It tasted like ass. Spencer would know, since he’d eaten enough of it. He was good at oral shit, which was great for hookups but not so great when it came to alcohol comparisons. “Also this shit is overrated.”

 

“You wouldn’t know good beer if I poured it on your head,” Gwyn said. “And no, you’re not a horrible person, even if you have horrible taste.”

 

“I have great taste,” Spencer said. The next poet stepped up onto the stage. She was older than Spencer, but not old. She had platinum blonde hair that she’d braided down over one shoulder, and she had a long, angular face. She was kind of hot. 

 

“You have horrible taste. And not just in drinks,” Gwyn said, and kicked him in the shin. Spencer took a long drink from his Guiness and acted like he had no idea what she was talking about. He didn’t understand poetry, because he was neither an English major nor a pretentious gay person, but he knew passion when he saw it. This woman was throwing herself into her words, the way Rochelle would throw herself into writing or Brendon would throw himself into a performance. She knew what she’d come here to say, and she was going to fucking say it. 

 

Spencer could appreciate a woman who knew what the fuck she was doing. He also recognised that this was a nicer bar than where he and Gwyn usually hung out and that most of the people here were here to listen to poetry, not hook up with the first person who paid attention to them. 

 

Spencer ended up getting her number anyway. Her name was Veronnica, with two N’s instead one, and she told him to give her an hour before he sent her an address to meet up at. Spencer waited until she was gone, headed towards the bathroom, to give Gwyn a double thumbs up. Gwyn, naturally, responded with her middle fingers instead. 

 

“Hey, you have a steady girlfriend,” Spencer said while they were on the train home. “I have to make this up as I go.”

 

“You have a boyfriend,” Gwyn said. “If your dick is that much of an issue, just get off with him.”

 

It wasn’t that easy. Spencer liked Gavin. Spencer also knew that there were plenty of gay guys out there who were more interested in dick than they were real men. Spencer was a real man, but he didn’t have a dick, and he didn’t want Gavin to think he was a horny mess, either. 

 

“What, are you afraid I’ll end up sleeping with someone else’s husband?” Spencer asked. 

 

“More like I’m afraid you’ll put your dick in the wrong hole and end up with crabs,” Gwyn said. She stared him down. “And I am  _ not _ dealing with crabs. Of any kind.”

 

“I’m not getting crabs, Jesus Christ,” Spencer said. He knew how to have safe sex. He wasn’t an idiot. He hadn’t had any sex in high school, and he never went to college, so he supposed that this was his sex-crazy phase. Everyone else got one, so it only seemed fair. 

 

He and Gwyn got back to the flat, and Gwyn promised to stay in her room and turn her music up so she wouldn’t hear shit. Spencer headed to his own room and stripped down naked before realising he had no idea where his realistic strap on was. He ended up running around naked for about five minutes before he finally found it, and by then Veronnica had texted him asking for the address. 

 

She showed up about fifteen minutes later, wearing a turtleneck and no bra. It would have been hotter if her nipples weren’t staring at Spencer through the shirt. Nipples weren’t supposed to be intimidating. Veronnica smiled up at him, looking like a Cheshire cat. “Nice package. Shall I open it?”

 

“Go for it,” Spencer said, and pulled her towards his bedroom. 

 

* * *

 

**September 9, 2006; Las Vegas, Nevada.**

 

Spencer’s parents house hadn’t changed much. They’d started turning his old room into an office, which Spencer though was hilarious because it meant his sisters still didn’t have their own rooms. Before Spencer had come out, Crystal and Jackie had almost hated him for being the older sibling and also having a room to himself. After he’d come out, though, they’d turned around and decided that they didn’t want to share a room with a boy anyway, and that Spencer wasn’t half bad. 

 

Spencer didn’t understand teenage girls. 

 

“How’re you three settling in?” Spencer’s mom asked. They’d opened up the doors to that backyard, but everyone was still inside for the most part. It was still warm, but Spencer’s parents had covered the pool so that the dog wouldn’t jump in. 

 

“Good, I guess,” Spencer said. “It’s weird to wake up in the same place after being on tour for an entire year.”

 

“I almost forgot what you looked like,” his mom said. She looked him over, and Spencer could tell that she was taking in all the changes she’d missed. Spencer had been on T for just over a year now, and he finally felt like it was changing him. He still didn’t like looking at himself in the mirror sometimes, because his hips and thighs looked like a girl’s, and his voice was still kind of high, but it was an improvement. He couldn’t remember the last time someone called him ma’am by mistake. He wondered if it was hard for his parents to look at him now, and if they wondered what he’d have looked like if he wasn’t trans. He wondered if they were bitter about losing their daughter. 

 

His mom smiled. “You look happier.”

 

“I’m living the dream,” Spencer said, and laughed at himself because he didn’t want to think about the hard stuff. 

 

“I’m not just talking about the band,” she said, and patted him on the knee. “You, as a person, as a  _ young man _ , look happier. I’m so proud of you, Spence. You’re my favourite son by far.”

 

Spencer rolled his eyes. “I’m your only son.”

 

“Well, if Rochelle ends up marrying a guy, you won’t be,” his mom said. Spencer wondered if Rochelle knew that his parents considered her their daughter. They didn’t have to, now that she had Jon and his family, but it was still awesome. Spencer had practically grown up with Rochelle. It would be wrong for her to get uninvited to family events now. 

 

Spencer’s dad called everyone out for dinner, and Spencer and his mom headed outside. Brendon had somehow been pulled into helping Spencer’s dad, with Dallon standing back and just watching. They seemed incredibly amused by the whole process. Spencer, curious, walked over and stood beside Dallon. Dallon bumped their shoulder against Spencer’s. “Your dad forgot that Brendon was a vegetarian, so now they’re frantically trying to figure out how to grill pineapple.”

 

“Sounds tasty,” Spencer said. “I don’t know how that would work, though.”

 

“Apparently it’s a thing,” Dallon said. 

 

Eventually, everyone was seated around the picnic table in the backyard, and Spencer’s dad was handing out food. It reminded Spencer of when he was a kid, maybe seven or eight, and he’d decided he wanted a pool party for his (and Rochelle’s) birthday. It was a good idea, since Spencer’s birthday was right at the end of summer and it was usually still warm, but that year fall had come early and it had been fucking cold. Not Jon Walker levels of cold, but cold enough that swimming in the pool turned out to be a bad idea and everyone had spent most of the party wrapped up in towels and sitting at the picnic table, picking at pizza toppings. 

 

That had been the first time Spencer realised he didn’t hang out with girls much. There had been five other people besides himself and Rochelle, and only one of them had been a girl. And that girl was Rochelle’s “girlfriend” at the time, so Spencer didn’t know if she counted or not. 

 

“What’re you thinking about, thinking man?” Brendon said. He knocked his ankle against Spencer’s calf. 

 

Spencer bumped Brendon back. “How I was a weird kid. And how you would have fit in easily.”

 

“You probably would have hated me if we knew each other as kids,” Brendon said. “I was a spazz. I was also a leash baby, according to my sisters.”

 

“You don’t remember it?” Dallon asked. 

 

“I was three,” Brendon said. “Do you remember what you were like when you were three?”

 

“No,” Dallon said. They looked pensieve for a moment, clearly trying to think of some childhood memory from when they were three. Spencer tried to imagine what Dallon would look like as a three year old. They probably had the same ugly bowl cut that every boy under the age of eight had, and they probably dressed up a lot. Dallon had been a bit of a geek in school, and that had to have come from somewhere. 

 

“When Spencer was three, he decided that skiing on snow wasn’t enough, and that he was going to ski on grass instead,” Spencer’s mom said. She grinned. “I still have pictures, somewhere in one of our old photo books.”

 

“And they’re gonna stay there,” Spencer said, stealing a grilled pineapple off of Brendon’s plate. It actually tasted good. 

 

“Actually, they won’t,” his dad said, and Spencer panicked for a moment. He’d heard about people’s parents embarrassing them in front of their dates by bringing out baby pictures, but he didn’t think it was a real thing that happened. He also didn’t think his parents were the type to do that, especially since Spencer was trans and he had long, girly hair in his baby pictures. 

 

“Your mom and I are moving back to Colorado over the winter,” he said. He gestured to Crystal and Jackie, who weren’t at all shocked, which meant that they already knew. “And the girls, of course. We’re not about to leave two fourteen year old girls alone in a house.”

 

“Why?” Spencer asked, because that was the obvious question. “I thought you guys loved Las Vegas.”

 

“We do,” his mom said. “But your dad’s parents are tired of the cold, and they don’t want to give the house away to just anyone. There’s no mortgage attached, and your dad and I both have set up jobs for ourselves when we get there. And it’ll be nice for when you and the girls start having more people to bring over for the holidays. It was bad enough last Christmas, trying to fit all five of you into this house.”

 

“Oh,” Spencer said, and then thought,  _ so I guess we just signed a lease in Vegas for no real reason. Whoops. At least it’s not near where Brendon and Dallon grew up _ . 

 

His mom looked worried. “You’re not upset, are you?”

 

“No, it’s--” Spencer glanced at Dallon and Brendon both, because he didn’t want to draw either of them into something they didn’t need to be dragged into. “We kind of chose to rent here instead of in Chicago so that we could be closer to you.”

 

“It’s not a problem, though,” Dallon butted in. “I mean, all three of us grew up here anyway, so the whole adjustment thing’ll be easier since we already know the area. And it’ll give us some space for when we’re not touring.”

 

“Yeah,” Brendon said. He grinned. “And now I’m old enough to actually get into the casinos without being kicked out.”

 

Spencer rolled his eyes, but he was relieved on the inside. Okay. So. That was something he hadn’t seen coming, but that was life. And Dallon and Brendon weren’t upset, or pissed off that Spencer had brought them back to Vegas for no reason. It wasn’t what Spencer had planned, but it was okay. They could make it work. 

 

* * *

 

**November 16, 2009; London, England.**

 

The restaurant was nice, but it was mostly underground. Spencer checked his reflection in the window before he walked in, and smiled at the host. “Hey. Uh, I’m here with Parker? Gavin Parker?”

 

“Right this way, sir,” the host said. Spencer still felt a little giddy whenever strangers called him sir. He pressed his hands to his pockets to make sure he still had his phone and wallet, and followed the man down the stairs. Gavin was already sitting at the booth, looking rather relaxed as he looked over the menu. The host extended his hand towards the table. “Here you are. I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your orders.”

 

“Awesome, thanks,” Spencer said, and slid in across from Gavin. He looked him up and down, not bothering to hide it. “You look great, by the way.”

 

“Thank you. It’s a result of two nights without sleep and a lot of hair product,” Gavin said, smiling coyly. 

 

Spencer bit his lip. “Shit, you should have said something. We could have rescheduled--”

 

“It’s alright. I’ll have a glass of wine with dinner and sleep like a child tonight,” Gavin said. He hooked one of his feet around Spencer’s. “Until then, however, we can get to know each other a little better.”

 

“Works for me,” Spencer said. He and Gavin ended up ordering a bottle of red to split, as well as two different entrees. Spencer went with steak, to be safe, and Gavin chose something spicy and fancy sounding. Spencer paid attention when it came out, looking at all the things on his boyfriend’s plate and trying to commit them to memory. He was a pretty good cook, even though he didn’t get to do it as much as he wanted to. He could probably recreate this. 

 

“Did you want a bite?” Gavin asked. He stabbed a piece of his food with his fork and offered it to Spencer. Spencer opened his mouth to say that he’d just been looking, but then decided that that would sound weird, so he just nodded and accepted the food. It was pretty good. It was also pretty bland, but Spencer figured that was because Gavin was English and didn’t understand spices. 

 

Gwyn wasn’t as bad with the spices, but sometimes Spencer had to come in behind her and add some of his own. She always looked surprised when he did that, because he was the white guy and white guys had no idea how spices worked. Spencer, unlike most white guys, had been in a relationship with Brendon Urie for four years, and Brendon fucking loved spicy shit. Spencer’s tolerance had gone up significantly since the two of them had known each other. 

 

“It’s okay,” Spencer said when he realised Gavin was waiting for some kind of response. “It’s kind of bland. No offense to the chef.”

 

“What, do you think you could make a better version?” Gavin asked. 

 

Spencer shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably. My mom taught me how to cook when I was a teenager, so I know my way around the kitchen.”

 

“You’ll have to prove it to me sometime, then,” Gavin said. Spencer grinned. He’d been hoping for that. It’d be a good excuse to invite Gavin over, as well, and maybe figure out a double date between the two of them and Gwyn and her girlfriend. 

 

The rest of dinner went by easily. Spencer talked about his family a little bit, since Gavin was curious about growing up in America. He didn’t seem to care that Spencer never went to college, which was good. Spencer knew he didn’t need to feel guilty about only having a high school degree, but sometimes he did. His sisters were starting to look at colleges, too, and that was just adding to the awkwardness of it all. He was glad to be all the way in London, so that he wouldn’t have to listen to his relatives talk about Crystal and Jackie and how smart they were over the holidays. 

 

Spencer loved his parents, and his sisters and the rest of his family, but they were so normal compared to him. They were all basic Americans, with their four year college degrees and safe houses in the suburbs of various cities. He wasn’t a black sheep, and they didn’t hate him, but the older Spencer got, the harder it was for him to fit in when he went home. He was the queer one, the polyamorous one who showed up with two partners, and the one who left school to be in a rock band. They were proud of him, but they didn’t get him. They didn’t know what to ask him because they didn’t know if they  _ could _ ask about weddings or babies. 

 

Spencer tapped his fingers against the table. “Sorry, I’m rambling. What’s your family like?”

 

“I’m an only child,” he said. “So I got a lot of attention growing up, but both of my parents had about four siblings each, so Christmas and Easter were always big events.”

 

“I can imagine,” Spencer said. “Are they… do they know you’re gay?”

 

“They do, and they’re alright with it,” he said. His parents weren’t very religious, and it turned out that a lot of English Christians were cool with gay people. That was a relief. Spencer didn’t know if he would ever meet Gavin’s parents, or the rest of his family, but knowing that they wouldn’t hate him based on who he was was a good thing. 

 

“Should I walk you home?” Gavin offered. They’d split the bill, after a short discussion. Spencer could afford it, but Gavin didn’t know about the whole band thing, or that Spencer’s net worth was somewhere around a million dollars. He just thought that Spencer worked at a record store and didn’t have a college degree. He probably thought that this kind of restaurant was a stretch for Spencer’s budget, and Spencer didn’t feel the need to correct him. He could pay for his own shit, but he didn’t want to flaunt his money in front of anyone. He wasn’t that kind of guy. 

 

Spencer put his wallet back into his pocket and slid out of the other side of the booth. “If you want. I don’t live too far from here.”

 

“Did you take the Tube or did you get a cab?” Gavin asked. He reached out for Spencer’s hand, and Spencer took it without second thought. He didn't hide who he was, not anymore. He just hoped no one recognised him. 

 

It hadn’t happened yet, but Spencer was always going to be worried. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Gavin’s hand. “I took the Tube. Do people really call it the Tube?”

 

“Sometimes,” Gavin said, smiling. “Would you like to go running together tomorrow morning? Or is that too much at once?”

 

“Nah, it’s cool. I mean, that’s how we met,” Spencer said. He hadn’t gone running in a while. He’d been spending a lot more time out late at bars with either Gwyn and her friends or Mikey, and he hadn’t had the time to go out and run. Running with a hangover wasn’t fun, and Spencer liked to have fun. He let go of Gavin’s hand long enough for the two of them to get into the Underground station. “And I haven’t been running much recently, so don’t feel like you have to wait around for me.”

 

“I doubt you’ll need me to do that,” Gavin said. He took Spencer’s hand again and the two leaned against the wall while they waited for their train. Spencer knew how to get back to the flat now, and he was a little surprised by that. It was a new country, with a new subway system, and now it felt familiar. 

 

Spencer looked over at Gavin. London was starting to feel like home. He swallowed, and leaned over. “So. Would you mind if I kissed you?”

 

“Here?” Gavin asked. 

 

“Yeah,” Spencer said. He frowned. “Unless that’s a bad idea?”

 

“No, I just didn’t take you as the impulsive type,” Gavin said. 

 

Spencer leaned over and kissed him. It wasn’t a very long kiss, because they were in public and Spencer tried to stay somewhat decent in public. He pulled back for a moment and then Gavin closed the gap and kissed him, and Spencer couldn’t stop the smile crossing his face. He looked down at Gavin, noting the way his hair curled at the ends and how it had a auburn shine in the light of the subway station. 

 

The train pulled into the station, and Spencer kissed his boyfriend one more time. “Yeah, I didn’t either. Turns out I was wrong.”

 

* * *

 

**October 1, 2006; Las Vegas, Nevada.**

 

“Ry and Jon got cats,” Spencer said when he heard the door open. He didn’t know if it was Dallon or Brendon who’d come back, but both of them needed to know. The cats were fucking cute. They were both kittens, named Stubbs and Star, and they were both strays that Jon had picked up at the shelter. Stubbs had big green eyes and even bigger ears, and Star was a slightly cross-eyed tuxedo cat. 

 

“How do you know?” Brendon said, and dropped over the back of the couch to look over Spencer’s shoulder. 

 

Spencer tilted his laptop towards his boyfriend. “MySpace. Turns out Rochelle never really abandoned it at all.”

 

“Those are some funny looking cats,” Brendon said, hiding a giggle behind his hand. He looked up at Spencer. “We should get a dog.”

 

“Ask Dallon, but yeah,” Spencer said. “I’d love a dog.”

 

“Hell yeah,” Brendon said, grinning. He pulled out his phone and sent a text to Dallon, who was still out and doing whatever they did in their spare time. A moment later, Dallon texted back and Brendon grinned. “They said yes. Also to meet them at the Humane Society because they’re about ten minutes away and apparently we’ve been off tour for too long because it’s impulsive decision time.”

 

“Awesome,” Spencer said. He leaned over and kissed Brendon. Brendon kissed back, pulling Spencer down over the couch so that Spencer was on top of him. Spencer pressed his hands to Brendon’s stomach, leaning down to kiss across Brendon’s neck. He’d started growing facial hair, which Spencer still couldn’t do, and it felt weird against Spencer’s mouth. Spencer kissed Brendon’s jaw and sat back. “We should go. Dallon’s waiting, and all.”

 

“Killjoy,” Brendon rolled his eyes. He wiggled out from under Spencer and grabbed his stuff. The two boys called a taxi since Dallon had the Brobecks van, and spent the ride talking about what kind of dog they’d go home with. 

 

Spencer knew they had a few shows in Europe and that they’d be going on a real tour in November, but he figured that his parents would be fine with babysitting a dog for a bit. Or they could just bring the dog with them, since they were getting an actual tour bus for this tour. Panic! was headlining, which was awesome and nerve-wracking, and even though the five of them would have been okay with just the Brobecks van and a trailer, the label and Pete had insisted on a bus. 

 

Something about security and fangirls being rabid because they could spot the Brobecks van from a mile away. Spencer thought that Pete and the label were overreacting, but it wasn’t his call and he wasn’t going to complain too much about a tour bus. 

 

Dallon was sitting on the floor and surrounded by dogs when Spencer and Brendon caught up with them. There was a Jack Russell Terrier sitting in their lap and looking up at Dallon with sad eyes whenever Dallon paid attention to another dog, and Spencer knew that the choice had already been made. Brendon slid in next to Dallon and scooped the terrier up, hugging him. “Dallon. Dallon listen, this is our fucking son.”

 

“How do you know he’s a guy?” Dallon asked. They were playing tug of war with a bulldog puppy and Spencer wondered if it was worth it to try and convince Dallon to get multiple dogs at once. 

 

“Uh, because I know?” Brendon said. The Terrier licked his face and Brendon grinned. “I love you.”

 

“Can we get that one, too?” Spencer said. He crouched down and took the rope toy from the dog and started playing with her. “You’re so cute you squished little baby.”

 

“I want to say yes, but only because I need to know all the ridiculous names you guys would come up with,” Dallon said. They reached over and leaned against Brendon. “But no, we're only getting one dog today. Even though they're all cute and I'd love to take them home, I don't think we should do that yet.”

 

“I call dibs!” Brendon said, picking up his puppy and holding the dog to his face. He pouted at the other two. “Please? I mean, look at him. He's so cute; you can't say no to a face like this.”

 

_ Can't say no to a face like yours either _ , Spencer thought. He looked down at the bulldog. He wanted the bulldog, definitely, because the little guy was adorable and Spencer knew that bulldogs were less likely to get adopted because people saw them as violent, but Brendon was right. His dog's face was cute and hard to resist. 

 

Spencer sighed and scratched the dog's ears. “We'll come back for you, buddy. You'll get a good home soon.”

 

“Now I feel bad,” Brendon said. He stood up with his dog, slowly, and while watching the little bulldog. Spencer promised him that it was fine, and that he’d always been a dog person anyway and had missed having a pet. He would have gotten attached to all of the dogs here if he was allowed enough time to get to know them. 

 

When he and Rochelle had been in high school, she’d volunteered at a different animal shelter so that she wouldn’t have to go home as much, and she and Spencer both got in trouble for trying to sneak extra treats to the animals. Spencer had a tendency to get attached to people and animals with sad lives. His dogs growing up had all been strays or foster animals. And Rochelle knew what it was like to feel alone, so she got attached to shelter animals the same way Spencer did. He wasn’t surprised that she and Jon had cats of their own now. It made sense. 

 

They ended up with the Terrier, who Brendon named Bogart because he was a little shit and understood the irony. Bogart was precious, and ran all over the apartment as soon as they got home with him. 

 

Spencer grinned at Brendon. “See? You made a good choice. He loves it here.”

 

“I know,” Brendon said. 

 

“We’re definitely getting a second one,” Dallon said, watching Bogart rip across the couch and into Brendon’s arms. They glanced at Spencer. “Later. Once we’re all used to a single puppy running around.”

 

* * *

 

**November 29, 2009; London, England.**

 

Spencer was on LiveJournal for no good reason. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping to find there, but he knew it would feel bad. There was a whole journal devoted to finding evidence about him, and it creeped him out. There wasn’t anything on there that was meaningful, but Spencer couldn’t let it go. He didn’t like that the world wanted to know things about him he wasn’t ready to share. 

 

He ended up on Rochelle’s, and was surprised to see that she’d updated since she stopped writing fic in 2006. Rochelle had signed a  _ don’t talk about this _ contract from Pete and Patrick about the whole Summer of 2005 thing, and part of that contract involved her not writing fanfiction about them. Even under a pseudonym. She knew too much. Pete wasn’t out of the closet, and Rochelle wasn’t going to be the one to change that, even if she didn’t mean to.

 

Spencer understood that, as did Rochelle, since she’d been outed without her permission once and it stung. It was still weird to see an update there. The update was old, too, from back in May of 2007. They’d just scrapped the original Pretty. Odd. album and had gone back to being touring band hippies. Spencer wasn’t sure what had made Rochelle break her contract, but he read the message anyway. 

 

_ hey guys. _ __  
_ so most of you are probably wondering what happened to me. short story: i moved away, fell in love, and my dad died. long story isn't something i can share on the internet (at least not this part of it). i won't be writing any more fics sorry. irl life is just not compatible with fandom life at the moment and idk if it ever will be. _ __  
_ thats not the point of my post. about a week ago an old bandom friend of mine messaged me saying that a lot of you guys were attacking someone on here because she name-dropped me on her first ever fic. first of all, if u think i give a shit about that i dont. second, pls understand that i wouldn't exist as iam-clandestine if it weren't for a bunch of shitty wentzley fics buried in my archives. everyone starts as a bad writer. bullying people for bad characterisation or being heavily influenced by another writer doesn't do anything but discourage people from trying. _ __  
_ i know a bunch of u have discovered panic! since i disappeared, so to stay relevant i’ll use them as my example. most of rochelle’s lyrics come from other books. so if ur going to attack some random girl on the internet, u might as well attack ur fave female icon as well. just to be fair. _ _  
_ __ -ry

 

Spencer could see her saying that, too. He didn’t look to see who Rochelle was writing about, because he didn’t care that much about fandom things, but it was nice to know she’d never forgotten her roots. He and Rochelle were just scene kids who had made it, and they’d been lucky for years. 

 

That luck had run out, though, and now Spencer was a nameless retail guy in London and Rochelle was doing her own thing in Seattle. They’d come a long way from summers in Spencer’s grandma’s basement in Las Vegas, but the farther Spencer got away from Cape Town, the more he wondered if that was a good thing or not. 

 

* * *

 

**November 8, 2006; Orlando, Florida.**

 

“Holy shit,” Brendon said, jumping up onto Spencer’s back. Spencer stumbled, because he was tired and sweaty from being on stage for an hour and a half. Brendon was sweaty too, and he didn't smell that great, either. Spencer reached around and held onto his boyfriend’s legs so that Brendon didn’t fall off of him. 

 

“Holy shit, indeed,” Jon said. He had one arm around Rochelle’s shoulders, and was leaning into her. Dallon was still standing by the side of the stage, looking back out at the crowd of people. They were all here to see Panic!, and Spencer almost couldn’t believe that this tour was happening. A year or two ago, this would have all been a dream. Spencer knew he wanted to be in a band, but he always thought that he and Rochelle would just tour around with other pop-punk bands. They’d be able to live off of the band, but they wouldn’t be huge. 

 

But there were people screaming on the other side of that curtain, and they’d been yelling along to the songs that Rochelle wrote, and the dream had come true. Spencer and Rochelle were in a fucking band, leading a tour of their own. It didn’t matter that this was only the first show, or that none of them had been on the tour bus yet. This was real, and it was happening, and Spencer was fucking excited. 

 

Dallon looked over their shoulder. “Should we do an encore?”

 

“If we do one here, we’ll have to do one for every show,” Jon said. He stood up straight. “You know how it is.”

 

“Yeah,” Dallon said. They looked back at the crowd, and there was a warm grin on their face. “But I’m up for it.”

 

“Oh hell yeah,” Brendon said, and dropped off of Spencer. He looked around at the other four. He was still full of energy, because he fed off of the crowd, and he could have carried the show on for five hours if the others had let him. He jumped on his toes. “What should we do? A reprise? Cover?”

 

“Cover works for me,” Spencer said. He glanced at Rochelle. 

 

She nodded. “Wanna do something Fall Out Boy and confuse everyone?”

 

“Let’s save that for later,” Dallon said. 

 

“Karma Police?” Rochelle said, and then again, when everyone else nodded, she grinned at Brendon and repeated, “Karma Police. Let’s fucking go.”

 

They all joined hands, with Dallon going back out first and Brendon the last, and took their positions again. Spencer pulled his shirt away from where it had started to stick to his back, glad he didn’t have to wear a binder for this anymore, and twirled his drumsticks around. Brendon dropped down at the piano and tapped the mic before turning to the crowd, who were screaming even louder now. 

 

“We had a bit of an argument backstage as to what we were going to play for you guys before we all went home for the night, but that’s solved,” Brendon said. He played a little chord, his fingers unable to rest. “It’s a bit slower, and it’s not ours, but we think you’ll like it. Feel free to sing along if you’ve still got your voice.”

 

He looked over at Jon, and Jon nodded, and the two of them started the song. The encore hadn’t been planned or rehearsed before they got on, and it felt better this way. Everyone knew the song, so no one was nervous about fucking up, but it didn’t feel forced. This was a choice. This was Panic! at the Disco saying they didn’t want to leave either, that they wanted to continue this night into the morning so that no one had to go back home to their realities. 

 

Spencer knew that this was his reality. He missed Bogart, who was hanging out with Spencer’s parents until the band dropped into Colorado for the holidays, but Spencer knew he was supposed to be out here. This was a part of who he was, now, and he couldn’t imagine himself anywhere else. 

 

By the end, everyone was singing  _ for a minute there, I lost myself _ , over and over again, and Brendon got up and held the microphone out to the crowd. It was the five of them with the world, and Spencer knew he’d remember this for the rest of his life. 

 

The song ended, and Brendon turned the mic to himself and breathed out, “thank you so much. You guys are amazing, have a great night, all of you.”

 

That was it. That was the concert, and Spencer felt amazing. He didn’t bother waiting until the lights went down to pull Dallon down for a kiss, and he heard some cheering from the audience when he did it. Brendon laughed, and kissed Spencer as the lights went off. No one saw the second kiss, but it didn’t matter. People would either figure out the three of them, or they wouldn’t. Spencer cared more about getting back to the bus and out of his sweaty show gear than about people’s reactions to him kissing Dallon. 

 

The fans had figured out where the back door was, which shouldn’t have surprised Spencer since he and Rochelle had done the same thing every time they went to a show. They were pressed against the fences, and a lot of them had posters. 

 

Rochelle turned to Spencer. “This is weird. This shouldn’t be weird.”

 

“I’m so used to being on the other side,” Spencer said back. He felt unprepared, too, because he didn’t have a sharpie or anything. 

 

Jon, Dallon, and Brendon had gotten ahead of them and were already talking to the fans. Jon mixed in the easiest, but he was confusing a lot of teenage girls who expected him to act like a rockstar and not a guy with too much camera knowledge. He was taking pictures with and for people, and at one point, laughed and took a picture of just himself flashing a peace sign for two girls. 

 

Spencer pulled Rochelle forward, and the two of them were immediately swarmed by people. There were a clump of scene girls who yelled for Rochelle to take a picture with them because they knew her from MySpace and wanted proof for their pages. Spencer thought that was hilarious, and grabbed Jon so that he’d get a picture to keep with the band. 

 

It was a huge change from being on the other side, but Spencer wasn’t complaining. He was just surprised that no one was annoyed by how sweaty the band was. 

 

* * *

 

**November 26, 2002; Las Vegas, Nevada.**

 

Spencer bumped against Ryan without meaning to. The two of them were stuck in a crowd behind the bar, along with Spencer’s mom, waiting for Fall Out Boy to come out. Spencer felt out of place, because she had long hair and it was her natural brown colour, whereas everyone else had short hair or spiked hair and weird colours thrown in. Ryan fit in because she’d started dressing like a scene girl when she wasn’t in school. Spencer blamed Ryan’s new scene queen girlfriend for that. 

 

That scene queen, Sherri, was in front of Ryan, and Ryan had practically wrapped herself around her, but she was still trying to convince Spencer that she wasn’t third wheeling them. Spencer wasn’t an idiot, and she knew that Ryan was falling head over heels for this girl, but she put up with it because she had no other option. 

 

“Oh shit there’s Pete!” Ryan said, and elbowed Spencer while trying to get her attention. Spencer leaned up on her toes and sure enough, there he was, in the flesh. Ryan had been a fan of Pete Wentz since his last band, Arma Angelus, and had followed him from Arma to Fall Out Boy. Spencer liked Fall Out Boy better, which was why she’d agreed to come along with Ryan and Sherri to the show. 

 

“Pete!” Sherri screamed out, moving out of Ryan’s arms and towards the fence. Pete looked up and waved back, and it looked for a moment like he recognised them. Ryan had seen Arma before, but Pete had never met Sherri or Spencer. 

 

Ryan reached down and grabbed Spencer’s hand, even though there was no way Spencer was getting pulled back into the crowd, and pulled her forward. And then, like the parting of the red sea or something, she was standing next to Pete Wentz himself. The guitarist, Joe Trohman, was right behind Pete, and he looked about the same age as Ryan. 

 

Spencer leaned over and addressed Joe as well, since he was in the band and she didn’t want to seem like a Pete Wentz groupie. “Hi! I really liked the show!”

 

“Thanks,” Joe said. He stepped around Pete, almost surprised that Spencer was talking to him instead. His gaze dropped from Spencer’s face and she pulled up her shirt immediately. Joe’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit, no, I wasn’t--you’ve got a cool necklace.”

 

Spencer looked down. “I do. I forgot I was wearing that.”

 

“Yeah, sorry,” Joe said. He shrugged. “I have a girlfriend in Chicago, anyway.”

 

“She’s okay with you touring all the time?” Spencer asked. Ryan’s last girlfriend had gotten upset when she said she was going to follow Arma on their final tour at the end of the summer, and they’d ended up breaking up because of it. 

 

“For now,” Joe said. He frowned. “I doubt she’ll be as cool when she finds out we’re going to Europe in a month.”

 

“Shit, that’s far,” Spencer said. If she and Pet Salamander were going to be a real band and get out of her grandmother’s garage, she’d probably have to give up looking for a girlfriend permanently. Or she’d have to turn into a Pete Wentz and just sleep with groupies. Spencer looked away from Joe for a moment, to see that Ryan and Sherri were both blatantly flirting with Pete while he signed their shit and took pictures with them. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Joe. “Are you excited?”

 

“Hell yeah,” Joe said. “I’ve never been to Europe.”

 

“I haven’t either, but I heard it’s awesome and that they have a lot of drugs,” Spencer said. 

 

Joe nodded, probably thinking about all the drug possibilities. “So, how long have you known about us? I didn’t expect a lot of people to be out here, since we’re all the way from Chicago and Fall Out Boy hasn’t taken off yet. I mean, most people here think we’re still Arma.”

 

“Ryan’s been a fan of Arma since forever, and he kind of dragged me into it,” Spencer said, pointing over her shoulder at Ryan, Sherri, and Pete. “I like this stuff better, I guess. I’m kind of into everything, as long as it’s not country music.”

 

“I don’t think anyone with taste likes country music,” Joe said. He scratched the back of his neck. “Uh. Did you want a picture or anything? Because talking is fun and all, but like, I’m supposed to be mingling around.”

 

“I’ll take a picture,” Spencer said. She had a camera that she’d gotten for her birthday, and pulled it out so that she and Joe could get in frame together. Spencer pulled her best serious bitch face, because she didn’t want to look like a fangirl, and Joe made duck lips. Spencer snapped the picture, and then turned the camera around to make sure it worked. It looked okay, even though Spencer’s face had broken out recently and she and Joe were both really pale from the flash. Spencer nodded. “Awesome, thanks. You’re super cool, by the way.”

 

“You too,” Joe said. “See you around, maybe?”

 

“If you’re ever in Vegas again, I guess,” Spencer said, but she didn’t have high hopes. Bands didn’t come to Vegas, at least not the bands that Spencer liked. She looked at the picture again when Joe had walked off, and thought to herself that this was a really awesome night. It would probably never happen again, but it was great while it lasted. 

 

* * *

 

**November 22, 2006; Chicago, Illinois.**

 

Spencer had gotten used to the fans crowding him by now. It was normal, even though it was still scary sometimes and he usually ended up feeling happy but unable to really breathe. 

 

So he was a little surprised to leave the venue and be assaulted by angry adults holding signs and yelling at the band. Especially since they were in Chicago, and at some point, Panic! at the Disco had become a Chicago band instead of a Vegas-and-Chicago band. Dallon tensed up beside him, and Rochelle melted back behind him and Jon both. Brendon didn’t change his demeanor, but took Spencer and Dallon’s hands and squeezed them both. 

 

Dallon let go first and walked towards the angry people. They walked with anger in their steps, right up to the man in the center holding a  _ I Don’t Want My Son Hearing Fag Music _ sign. Dallon was shaking a little, but Spencer could tell it was with anger and not with fear. Dallon looked down at the man. “What’s your goal here, exactly?”

 

“To make sure you and all the other deviant fags like you know we don’t want your agenda,” the man spat back. Wrong choice, random dude. Dallon wasn’t an inherently violent person, but they’d grown up with homophobic parents and lost one of their best friends to violently homophobic people, and they didn’t take shit from anyone. 

 

Dallon slowly reached up and took the sign from the man. “You aren’t going to convince anyone of anything.”

 

They lifted their leg up so that their thigh was at a right angle from the rest of their body. “Your son--all of your children--are going to grow up to be whoever they were meant to be. You saying you hate people like me and my friends isn’t going to keep your kids from being gay.”

 

Dallon dropped the sign over their thigh and snapped it in half. “All you’re doing is showing your children that you don’t really love them. Fuck off.”

 

Dallon tossed the sign back to the man and then pushed through the crowd. There was definitely something intimidating about a six and a half foot person snapping a wooden sign over their leg and then walking through a crowd. Spencer followed Dallon, because he wanted to get back on the bus anyway, but he made sure to glare at anyone who looked at him or any of his band members strangely. They were a team, and they didn’t put up with that shit. 

 

* * *

 

**December 1, 2009; London, England.**

 

Spencer was nervous. Gavin had invited him up to his parents house for Christmas, and Spencer had said yes, but he hadn’t told his own parents that he wasn’t coming home for the New Year. He knew that he could, if he wanted to, but he didn’t. Rochelle and Jon would be there, probably, and Spencer didn’t want to face them both at the same time. 

 

He still had to call his parents, though. It was about eight in the evening, which meant that his parents were about to have lunch and he could call them without having to worry that they were out skiing. 

 

Gwyn walked by on her way downstairs. “Don’t be a baby about it. You’re allowed to have a life without your parents finding out about it.”

 

“I’m not worried about them knowing I have a boyfriend,” Spencer said. “I’m worried they’ll call me a flake for not coming home for New Year’s. I could do it, and they know I could do it, but…”

 

“You said your parents know you’re polyamorous, right?” Gwyn said, arching an eyebrow. Spencer nodded slowly. She put her hand on her hip. “Well. I’m your girlfriend, then, and I’m taking you out on New Year’s since you’re spending Christmas with your boyfriend and I’m not dating him.”

 

Spencer laughed. “What would your girlfriend say?”

 

“Well, considering you and I are only flatmates, I say she wouldn’t care too much,” Gwyn said. She winked and then left Spencer alone upstairs. He sighed and looked down at his phone again. He knew he couldn’t ask Linda to do it for him, because she would tell him to lengthen his dick and do it himself. She was right, too, because if Spencer was going to keep avoiding his own ex best friend, then he’d have to do it on his own terms. 

 

He took a deep breath and called his dad’s phone. 

 

“Hey Spence, your mom and I are about to ski out,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

 

“I. I’m not coming home for New Year’s either,” Spencer said, and he felt like a little shit for saying it. “Sorry.”

 

“Should I be worried about anything?” his dad said. “You know you’re our son, right? If you don’t want Rochelle or Jon or Linda there, we can uninvite them.”

 

“No, it’s okay, I just… I already have plans, sorry,” Spencer said. He wasn’t taking that away from Linda or Rochelle. Rochelle didn’t have her own parents to go home to over the holidays, since her dad was dead and she didn’t know where her mom was. And Linda’s parents didn’t want a lesbian daughter, so they didn’t have any daughter. Sure, Rochelle and Jon could go to one of Jon’s parents’ houses for Christmas and New Years, but Spencer’s parents liked the couple and it was tradition. 

 

Spencer would have his shit sorted out by next year. Things were just too raw now. Five months hadn’t been enough time. 

 

“It’s okay, Spencer,” he said. “Tell your boyfriend we said hi, by the way. And if the two of you are still dating next year, he’s perfectly welcome to come meet us instead of keeping you to himself.”

 

“I’ll tell him,” Spencer said, and smiled a little. It was too early to tell, because he and Gavin had only been dating for a few months, but he kind of hoped that the two of them would be together a year from now. He liked Gavin. He could see himself with Gavin, like he’d seen himself with Brendon and Dallon, but without the band and the stress of being famous that came with it. 

 

He ended the call with his dad, and was surprised to see a text from Mikey:  _ hey this is last minute but tmr night chem is playing a secret show if u wanted something to do. u could bring ur bf if u dont wanna hook up after _ . Spencer looked at the text for a moment, and considered it. He had an early shift tomorrow, from ten until six, but he could make the show and he wouldn’t have to worry about a bunch of emo kids recognising him there. 

 

Gavin wouldn’t be able to go, though, because his work started at eleven and the last thing he needed was to be at a concert all night before going in. Spencer sent him a text, saying he was going to a show tomorrow night and he’d check in with Gavin once he got home, and then responded to Mikey’s:  _ ill be alone but sure. address?  _

 

* * *

 

**December 23, 2006; Vail, Colorado.**

 

The house was a lot bigger than Spencer had remembered. The last time he’d been here, he had been five years old and convinced that he was going to be the girl Tony Hawk of snowboarding. That hadn’t happened, because there wasn’t a lot of snowboarding in the desert, and Spencer wasn’t that good at skateboarding, either. 

 

“This is fucking awesome,” Brendon whispered. 

 

“Don’t say fuck in front of my mom,” Spencer said. He looked over at Dallon, who was silently taking in the house as well. They were containing their awe better than Brendon, though, but there was still a grin on their face. Spencer’s parents had gone all out with the Christmas lights, too, and the whole front of the house was lit up. The resort was behind the house, because Spencer’s grandparents had been rich as fuck and decided that the best kind of mountain house was the kind that literally sat on the edge of the mountain. 

 

“I’ve never seen west coast snow,” Sarah said, kneeling down to pull some into her hand. She pressed it into a snowball and then watched as it dripped between her fingers again. “It’s dry.”

 

“How the hell is snow dry-- _ oh _ ,” Jon said, as he did the same thing. 

 

Linda looked over at Rochelle. “Do you know what they’re talking about?”

 

“No idea,” Rochelle said. “Pretty sure all snow is wet.”

 

“Guys, let’s go inside. It’s cold out here and I think some of you are losing your grasp on reality,” Dallon said. They looked like they were holding back laughter, which made sense. Dallon had spent two winters in Utah, which was basically the more boring version of Colorado, so they knew what a west coast winter looked like. 

 

Inside, it smelled like apple cider, and Spencer immediately went to the kitchen to try and find where his mom had put it. Hs mom made kickass cider, and Spencer wanted some. It wasn’t that cold outside, but Spencer had forgotten what the cold felt like after being in Vegas for too long, so his fingers were numb. 

 

“I see you found the cider I made,” his mom said, coming around the corner and scaring the shit out of him. She gave him a look. “Merry Christmas, Spence, and you’re welcome.”

 

Spencer coughed. “Thanks. And, uh, Merry Christmas to you too. How’s it been out here?”

 

“Your sisters are loving it,” she said. She rolled her eyes. “They convinced your dad to go out night skiing in Keystone, so they’re not back yet. I told them to get groceries while they were out, so that you guys wouldn’t come home to an empty house.”

 

“I want to go night skiing,” Spencer said. “That sounds cool.”

 

“It’s cold,” his mom said. “And you can’t see anything.”

 

“Still sounds fun,” Spencer said. He was nineteen. If he wanted to go out at night and ski until his fingers froze and fell off, then that was his choice. Rochelle would hate him if he did that, though, because then she’d have to find them a new drummer. It probably wasn’t a good idea, then. Spencer didn’t want to have to give up the band just to have some fun over the break. 

 

Dallon was the first to come back down to the main level. They’d taken their shoes off, and were half walking, half gliding across the hardwood floors. They scooted Spencer over and joined him in his chair. Dallon draped their arm behind Spencer’s shoulders. “This is really nice, Ms. Smith.”

 

“Dallon, call me Ginger. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that,” she said, shaking her head. She did hand them an apple cider before giving Spencer a long look and leaving the two alone in the living room. 

 

Spencer looked up at his partner. “You know she’s serious, right? Everyone calls her Ginger, even Ry.”

 

“Old habits,” Dallon said. They sort of melted against Spencer, and Spencer leaned into them as well. Dallon was warm, and they smelled good even though they’d been on a plane for hours. Spencer sipped from his cider and nuzzled against Dallon’s neck. Dallon kissed the top of his head. “Merry early Christmas, by the way.”

 

“Christmas number two of us being together,” Spencer said. 

 

“Are we going to have to go skiing with your family?” Dallon asked. “Because I tried that, the one winter I was in Salt Lake, and I was really bad at it. My old bandmates had pictures. They might still have them.”

 

“Are you still in contact with those guys?” Spencer asked, grinning. He didn’t think that Dallon was, considering how they’d left Utah. “Because I want to see that.”

 

“I’m not, and even if I was, I wouldn’t show you,” Dallon said. 

 

Spencer pouted. “Really? But I thought you loved me.”

 

“I do, but I love my dignity more,” Dallon said. They leaned down and kissed Spencer, and they tasted like cider. Spencer set his cider down on the side table and then kissed Dallon back, holding their face in his hands. He slowly moved so that he was straddling them, but it didn’t feel sexual. It was just the two of them, in love, and making out in a chair. 

 

Dallon placed their hands on Spencer’s waist, right where he still had a bit of a curve, and Spencer froze. He felt weird, and a little nauseous. He pulled back from the kiss and sat back on Dallon’s thighs. “I. I don’t know what just happened.”

 

“It’s okay,” Dallon said. They dropped their hands away from Spencer. “You don’t have to know.”

 

“It’s not you,” Spencer said quickly, even though he knew Dallon wouldn’t think that. Dallon was more mature than him and Brendon, even though they tried to downplay it sometimes. Dallon had more experience than the two of them, and they were older. They had their life together more than Spencer did, even though Spencer definitely wasn’t a confused or hormonal teenager anymore. 

 

Dallon brushed a piece of hair away from their face. “I know. I’m not mad at you. Sometimes you’re into it, sometimes you’re not, and I’d rather you tell me than lie and then have it be awkward for everyone.”

 

Spencer rolled his eyes. “You’re making this more than it should be. I just… I don’t like it when people hold my waist. I feel like the girl when that happens.”

 

“Where do you want me to hold you, then?” Dallon asked. “Or do you want to switch where we are?”

 

Spencer blinked at them. “Do… do you want to switch?”

 

“I want you to be comfortable,” Dallon said. They bit their lip. “And, uh, I really don’t mind being  _ the girl _ in a make-out situation, if we’re making hetero parallels.”

 

“I’d prefer not to do anything hetero, thank you,” Spencer said. He grabbed Dallon’s arm and moved the two of them around so that Dallon was sitting on top of him. Spencer was used to being on top, but that was usually just in sex, and not just for making out. This was nice, though, and it meant that he could grab Dallon’s thighs while they kissed. 

 

Again, it wasn’t desperate, and Spencer didn’t think that the two of them were going to have sex in the living room when any of his friends or his mom could walk in on them, but it wasn’t completely innocent, either. Spencer’s hands were on Dallon’s ass, and Dallon had one hand up under Spencer’s shirt. Their fingers were kind of cold, but Spencer bit at Dallon’s lip instead of shivering, and focused his attention on their mouth. 

 

“You guys started without me? Wow, I’m offended,” Brendon said. 

 

Dallon pulled back without taking their hands off of Spencer. They raised an eyebrow at Brendon. “You were the one who wanted to unpack everything first.”

 

“I wouldn’t have if I knew you guys were going to make out without me!” Brendon exclaimed. He crossed his arms over his chest. “It was pretty hot, though. I’m not really complaining.”

 

Spencer rolled his eyes. “You have the worst timing. Seriously. This isn't Chicago, or tour, and we can't just do whatever whenever. My  _ parents _ are here.”

 

“We do have our own room, though,” Dallon said. They smiled. “The view's not too bad either.”

 

* * *

 

**December 2, 2009; London, England.**

 

Spencer stepped in the club, and almost gagged from the smell of cigarettes and cheap alcohol. He was used to the cheap alcohol, considering his friends in London were a bunch of struggling poets and recent med school grads. It was the cigarettes that really got to him, because he didn’t smoke unless it was weed, and Mikey always made sure to open the window whenever he smoked around Spencer. 

 

He pressed his sleeve to his nose and made his way over to the bar before ordering himself a beer and moving back into the crowd of people. Spencer sipped from the beer, glad it was masking the nicotine stench, and looked up at the stage. It didn’t look anything like Chicago Warped Tour, circa 2005. That was the last time he’d seen My Chem play live. Eighteen year old Spencer would have freaked if he knew that he’d be seeing My Chem again in four years because he was fucking the bassist. 

 

Spencer smiled at the stage. The lights dimmed, and he kept drinking from his beer as the people pushed in around him. He was on the side that Mikey would be on, not that he cared too much about that. He just wanted to make sure Mikey saw him. This whole night would be a waste if the two of them missed each other. 

 

Gerard was blonde now, but a really fake blonde colour. Spencer almost laughed, because Linda’s hair had been that colour the first time she tried to bleach and highlight it herself. Gerard looked like a dad on vacation who’d tried to blend in with all the cool kids. It wasn’t his best idea. Spencer quickly snapped a picture so that he could send it to Linda later with the caption  _ is this u as an emo _ . She’d hate it, but Spencer thought he was funny sometimes. 

 

They played two songs that Spencer didn’t know, and he was thrown off when that happened. He’d grown up as an emo kid, and he knew every My Chem song to ever exist. He and Rochelle had even managed to get their hands on a copy of the coveted basement demos. Spencer knew everything, but he didn’t know these, and he didn’t like it. 

 

He wouldn’t consider himself emo anymore, or scene or alternative or any of the other labels he’d thrown onto himself when he was sixteen and insecure. Spencer still considered himself a fan, though, which was mostly why he was embarrassed. 

 

Mikey came over to Spencer while Gerard was talking between songs and tapped one of the security guys on the shoulder. He pulled a lanyard out of his pocket and then pointed at Spencer. The guard nodded, and Mikey returned to his place on the stage. Frank gave him a weird look, and then jumped into his personal space as soon as  _ Prison _ started up. 

 

The guard walked up to Spencer and smacked him on the elbow. “This is for you. You’re Way’s friend, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Spencer said, because he didn’t have a better explanation for what they were. He wouldn’t really consider himself one of Mikey’s friends, because they weren’t that. They were two grown men who had sex with each other occasionally. That didn’t constitute friendship. 

 

“Alright. No funny business,” the guard said. He glared at Spencer until Spencer nodded, and then he went back to his post. 

 

Spencer put the lanyard around his neck and turned his attention back to the music. They played one more song before ending the set, and there was no hint of an encore. Spencer hadn’t expected one. Panic had never done secret shows, just because that wasn’t their thing, but Fall Out Boy had, and Spencer knew they never did encores there. Part of the appeal of a secret show was that it was something no one expected. People expected encores. The bands that played secret shows didn’t always give encores, because they didn’t want to get mobbed by fans who knew when things were over. 

 

Spencer slipped out through the front of the crowd and headed towards the exit. He pulled at the lanyard, and looked down to see what it classified him as. VIP. That was it. Nothing special. Spencer let it go, and pushed out into the cold. He shrugged his jacket back on and zipped it up while he walked around to find the band. 

 

The other back door was open, and he could hear people with New Jersey accents talking loudly. Spencer took a deep breath. He’d never truly outgrown being an emo kid, apparently, because he was nervous about meeting the band as a whole. Mikey had given him the lanyard, though, which meant Mikey wanted him back here. Spencer wasn’t about to burst in uninvited. 

 

“Who’re you?” Frank asked. He was shorter in person. Spencer knew the guy wasn’t tall, and he’d spent a lot of time around Fall Out Boy (who were all pretty short), but Frank was  _ really _ not tall. He also had a cigarette in his mouth and was looking at Spencer like he was figuring out the best way to kill him. “Seriously, dude, we don’t take reporters.”

 

“I’m not a reporter,” Spencer said. He glanced past Frank to the rest of the band. Gerard and Ray were sitting on a couch and sharing a cigarette, and Mikey was leaned against the wall and holding a can of beer. He was also watching Spencer closely. Spencer swallowed. “I’m a friend of Mikey’s.”

 

Frank looked over his shoulder at Mikey. “Oh, a  _ friend _ ?”

 

“Don’t be a jackass, Frank,” Ray said, and handed the cigarette to Gerard. “Mikey has friends.”

 

“Thanks, Ray,” Mikey said. He finished off his beer and tossed it into a trashcan. “You ready to go?”

 

“Um,” Spencer said. He hadn’t expected Mikey to be that obvious about things. He had also thought that he’d have a chance to meet the rest of the band, instead of just knowing them from afar. Spencer motioned to everyone else in the room. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

 

Mikey did not look like he wanted to do that. Frank was smirking at the two of them, Ray looked tired, and Gerard’s face had contorted into something incredibly dark and brooding. Spencer got the feeling that Mikey’s bandmates knew exactly the kind of person Mikey was, and that they weren’t okay with him cheating on his wife. 

 

Spencer swallowed. “Or not. I mean, you guys are probably all busy people, I don’t want to keep you guys off the road or away from making your record--”

 

“Aren’t you the missing Panic drummer?” Ray said, suddenly.

 

“No,” Spencer said automatically. He crossed his arms over his chest and then uncrossed them. This wasn’t how he imagined he’d meet My Chem. “I mean. I am. But.”

 

“Are you going to tell them where you went?” Ray asked. He sounded like a disappointed father. He looked like one, too, even though Mikey knew that Gerard was the only father of the group. “I don’t know what happened between the five of you, and quite frankly, I never need to know because it’s not my business, but you cannot just disappear on your friends. When we were younger and Gee went missing, the rest of us were worried sick. And we didn’t have Twitter or any of the other social media things you guys have now. Imagine how your ex band members feel, not knowing what happened to you or where you are after Cape Town.”

 

“That’s not--it’s not--they know where I am,” Spencer said. He was lying. Linda had told Rochelle and Jon that Spencer was fine, but none of the four of them knew he was in London. He didn’t know if anyone had told Brendon or Dallon what was going on, but the two of them seemed to be doing just fine. 

 

“Damn, Ray, no need to go all dad-mode on the guy,” Frank said. “He’s just fucking Mikey, it’s not like they’re dating or anything.”

 

Frank turned his face to Spencer and narrowed his eyes. Spencer had a feeling Frank had a knife somewhere on his person. “You know Mikey’s married, right? And that you ain’t shit?”

 

“I’m aware,” Spencer said. 

 

“So. Do you want to get out of here now?” Mikey said, quietly this time. 

 

“Yeah,” Spencer said. He looked over the other members. “But hey, at least my band knew when to quit.”

 

He turned on his heel and stomped through the back parking lot. Mikey was following behind him, trying to get Spencer to slow down, but Spencer didn’t. Mikey had long legs. He could keep up if he really wanted to. 

 

Spencer paused when he reached the street corner. There were a bunch of punk kids on the other side of the street, and Spencer didn’t want them to see Mikey or stop the two of them from getting back to Spencer’s apartment. He looked over his shoulder, to find some other way back to the subway station, but Mikey was right behind him and the kids were about to cross the street. 

 

“Shit,” Spencer hissed under his breath, and pulled out his phone. The light changed, and the kids started across, and Spencer pulled up his text conversation with Linda and sent the Gerard pic from earlier. He hoped that the kids would just walk past him and Mikey and onto wherever else they were going that night. 

 

“Holy shit,” one of them said. Spencer looked up in time to see the kids descend upon Mikey. There was nothing he could do, because he didn’t want anyone to pay attention to him, so he went back to texting. Linda was awake, and responded immediately, and Spencer let her act as a distraction. 

 

Mikey tapped Spencer on the shoulder. “That was a dick move.”

 

“What?” Spencer asked, putting his phone back in his jacket pocket. “I didn’t want to become the next big My Chem mystery. Your bandmates are right, too. You’re married, and I’m just the other guy.”

 

“They’re assholes,” Mikey said, rolling his eyes. He lit another cigarette and walked past Spencer, towards the subway station. “We’re going back to my apartment, by the way. Gee doesn’t know where it is, so he won’t bother us.”

 

* * *

 

**December 28, 2006; Vail, Colorado.**

 

Spencer pulled to a stop and turned so that he could look back up the mountain. He and Jon had figured out the whole skiing thing pretty quickly, but everyone else was struggling. Spencer's family was skiing elsewhere on the mountain, but they'd all promised to meet up at a restaurant on the mountain for lunch. Spencer was with his partners and friends because it was easier to be ahead of the group than to feel like he was holding everyone else back. 

 

Jon skidded to a stop right above Spencer and purposely sprayed powder onto his skis. Jon leaned forward on his poles. “So Sarah wiped out.”

 

“Is she okay?” Spencer asked. 

 

Jon nodded. “Yeah. It's just that west coast snow is different so she and I aren't used to it.”

 

“You seem to be doing fine.”

 

“I've been playing hockey since I was five. Sarah hasn't,” Jon said. He was wearing significantly less gear than the others. He'd gone without a helmet on the first day, but then Linda brought up all the different types of head traumas and Jon caved in. It was for the best, too, considering how they’d all been stumbling around on the bunny slopes. Spencer felt like he should have been skiing better, considering he’d done it before as a kid, but it had been more than ten years since he’d last touched a ski slope and it showed. 

 

“Hockey isn’t skiing,” Spencer said. Jon had been trying to convince him that the two were similar.

 

“You can’t say that,” Jon said. “You’ve only skated once, and you said you were pretty good at it.”

 

“I said I was a lot better than Linda at it,” Spencer corrected. “I wasn’t good.”

 

Dallon and Rochelle showed up next, and Spencer and Jon stopped arguing about the differences between ice skates and skis. Spencer said that there were a lot. Jon said there weren’t. Spencer was pretty sure that Jon didn’t know shit and was just trying to look cool in front of his girlfriend. 

 

“Were you two actually fighting about sports?” Rochelle laughed. “That’s such a straight person thing to do.”

 

“I’m not straight,” Jon said. “I just have a lot of straight friends.”

 

“Sounds like a personal problem,” Dallon said. Jon reached out with his pole and swiped at Dallon’s. Their poles collided and Jon’s bounced off, because Dallon’s was secured in the snow and they were leaning on it as well. Dallon turned to Spencer. “Sarah said we can ski a trail without her, and that they’ll meet back up with us at the bottom of the lift.”

 

“None of them are good at skiing,” Spencer said. He didn’t want to leave Brendon, Linda, and Sarah alone somewhere on the mountain. It didn’t matter that this section was only green with a few blue runs scattered about; he knew they’d only been skiing for a few days and it was harder to pick up a skill as an adult than as a kid. 

 

Dallon shrugged. “Sarah said she’d be fine.”

 

“Brendon’s going to die,” Rochelle shook her head. “Watch him try and take the girls down a shortcut and they end up on a black diamond or something.”

 

Spencer frowned. “Are you guys trying to convince me to stay here, or do you want to keep skiing without the others?”

 

“They’ll be fine,” Dallon said reassuringly. Spencer wanted to trust them, but he knew Brendon. Brendon picked up on things quickly, and he liked to show off. He also had a dangerously high pain tolerance, which was great for trying things out in bed, but not so great when it came to real life. He’d played on stage with a broken ankle for two nights in a row before letting anyone in the band look at it. Spencer didn’t want to see what he could do with a whole mountain under his control. 

 

“Linda’s there,” Rochelle said. “She’ll make sure Brendon doesn’t do anything dumb.”

 

“Linda once took three doses of DayQuil and a venti coffee because she had to present a midterm while she had the flu,” Spencer countered. “She’s not the best at knowing her limits.”

 

“But she’s good at recognising other people’s limits, thus why I have a helmet now,” Jon said. 

 

Spencer sighed. “Okay. To the lift it is. But if anyone gets hurt, it’s not my fault.”

 

The other three nodded, and then followed Spencer down to the chairlift. There were two chair lifts, one leading back up to where they’d been skiing around all morning, and the other heading across the mountain. Spencer didn’t bother looking at the map to make sure he got on the right one, because he knew what he was doing and he’d gotten on the right lift the last time. 

 

He skied over to the lift on the right and the four of them got in line. Spencer unzipped his jacket a little, because it was warmer down here when he wasn’t moving or in the shade. The ski attendent scanned their lift passes and then motioned them forward and onto the chair. Spencer was in the middle, next to Rochelle, and Jon and Dallon were on the ends. 

 

Rochelle pulled out her map while they were on the lift, careful not to drop her poles down between the chair and the bar. She frowned. “Hey, Spence, which lift did we get on again?”

 

“...the right one?” Spencer said slowly, leaning over towards his friend. “Why?”

 

“Right as in correct, or right as in the direction?”

 

“Both, I think,” Spencer said. “Why?”

 

Rochelle pointed at the map, and then drew her finger up the line of the lift they’d apparently gotten on. It led to a field of dark blue and black runs, with only a single blue leading away from the area and back to where the four of them were supposed to be. 

 

Spencer clenched his jaw. “Shit.”

 

“So much for Brendon being the one taking us down a black diamond,” Dallon said. They placed their hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Don’t take it personally, though. It could’ve happened to any of us.”

 

“If we survive, I’m telling your sisters you’re a dumbass,” Rochelle said, grinning from behind her ski mask. Spencer flipped her off. It worked, because he was wearing gloves instead of mittens. His fingers were cold, but at least he could give people the finger when needed. 

 

They got to the top of the lift and headed to the left, because that would take them back to where they’d been before. It was almost time for everyone to meet up and get food. If the trail was hard, at least they’d all get a break from it and not have to get back out immediately after. Spencer pulled his pole straps over his gloves and pointed toward the trail they needed. “So, I looked at the map this time, and that’s what we need to go down. It’s blue, but it’s a lot better than anything else we could get on.”

 

“You’re sure?” Dallon asked. 

 

Spencer nodded. “Yep. And there’s a giant map over there if you want to make sure yourself.”

 

Dallon leaned around Spencer and squinted at the giant map that a bunch of other people were staring at. Many of the lifts had maps at the top now, which was great because it meant that Spencer didn’t have to pull out his own personal map out every time he wanted to see where he was going. Spencer raised his eyebrow at Dallon, even though his face was covered and Dallon couldn’t see it. Dallon nodded, and so Spencer turned back around and started poling over towards the trail. 

 

It was pretty hard for a blue. Spencer didn’t mind going fast, he was okay with that, really, but this was fucking steep and there were literal kids passing right in front of him. Spencer was not a fan of these kids, because he was terrified that he’d run them over and then their ski instructor or parent or whoever was in charge would be legally obligated to kill Spencer for hurting their child. And if Spencer died, well, that would suck. Panic! would have to find a new drummer, and Spencer didn’t want to do that to his friends. 

 

Somehow, he survived, and the four of them rode the right lift up to lunch. Everyone else was already inside, holding an entire table down. Spencer took his helmet off as he walked into the restaurant, walking awkwardly due to his ski boots. His bangs fell into his face, and he knew he his hair looked a mess. Not even a good mess, which Spencer would have been fine with. 

 

He dropped down into the seat next to Brendon and took off his face mask. “We’re late because I can’t read, apparently.”

 

“No, you just don’t know your left from your right,” Rochelle said. Her hair was perfect because she was secretly harvesting powers from somewhere. She sat down on the other side of Spencer and leaned forward. “But I think that’s more embarrassing.”

 

“Crystal and Jackie are in line for food. There’s no need to insult me right now,” Spencer said. Brendon laughed. Spencer narrowed his eyes. “Hey. We survived.”

 

“Barely,” Rochelle said. 

 

“Work with me,” Spencer said. “Please.”

 

“Okay. We did survive, but it wouldn’t have been an issue if Spencer had put us all on the right lift in the first place,” Rochelle said. She took her gloves off and shoved them into her helmet before placing it under her chair. “How’s Sarah, by the way? Everything okay?”

 

“Yeah, she just lost her ski and a pole,” Brendon said. “She’s fine. She and Linda are also getting food.”

 

“So they left you and my dad in charge of the table?” Spencer said. His dad was sitting a few seats down, and he looked up and waved at Spencer when Spencer talked. Jon and Dallon sat down across from the three of them, leaving a seat for Spencer’s mom whenever she got back. 

 

“I didn’t take anyone on the wrong lift,” Brendon said. He grinned. Spencer didn’t kick him, because they were both wearing ski boots and he knew that would only end in chaos. Instead, he leaned over and stole one of Brendon’s little water cups before downing it all at once. Skiing was hard, and water was good. Brendon looked at Spencer for a long moment after Spencer had finished, and then sighed. He shook his head. “Okay. I guess I deserved that.”

 

“I’ll get you another water later,” Spencer promised, and added his cup to the little stack in the middle of the table. He winked at his boyfriend. “Hydration is important.”

 

* * *

 

**December 26, 2009; Ipswich, England.**

 

Gavin’s parents house was on the end of a row of townhouses. It was a regular house, decorated with memorabilia from the Gavin and his siblings’ childhood. There were photographs on the walls, a few trophies scattered about, and a bit of fridge art left up. It felt like a home. Spencer liked it, but Gavin wasn’t as much of a fan. 

 

“I don’t want to be that kind of domestic,” he said, later, when he and Spencer were curled against each other in Gavin’s childhood bedroom. They were fully clothed, because Spencer still hadn’t figured out a way to tell Gavin he was trans, and he didn’t want to do it over Christmas in case things got awkward. 

 

Spencer turned over so that he could see Gavin’s face. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean… I don’t know if I want to get married. It’s a thing straight people do, and I’m very much not that,” Gavin said. He ran his thumb across the back of Spencer’s hand. “And I definitely don’t want to have two and a half kids. I like kids alright, I think they’re adorable, and I won’t complain if I end up an uncle, but that’s… that’s not the kind of life I want to live.”

 

“That’s fine,” Spencer said. He kind of wanted kids. At some point. He didn’t need any right now. That would actually make things harder, because Spencer was twenty-two, in a new relationship, and hiding from most of the world. When he became a dad, he wanted to be the best version of a dad he could be. He knew how easy it was to fuck up a kid’s life forever, and he didn’t want to do that to anyone. 

 

Gavin leaned forward and kissed Spencer. “My parents are very traditional about that kind of shit. I’ve told them before that they’re not getting grandkids out of me, and every time I say it, they come back with  _ oh, I know you’re gay, but you can just adopt _ . I don’t want to adopt.”

 

“Then don’t,” Spencer said. 

 

Gavin raised his eyebrows. “You don’t mind that? Most bisexuals I’ve met end up wanting kids and going with a girl to get them.”

 

“That’s. That’s not--” Spencer didn’t know how to explain it, but he knew that Gavin was spewing bullshit. Yes, a lot of bisexual people ended up in opposite gender relationships, but that wasn’t because they wanted to be straight. It was because there were more straight people than gay people, and sometimes, it was nice to find someone who would stick around. 

 

He sighed. “My friend Rochelle, she’s bi, as is her husband, and they’re not having any kids. Bisexual people don’t necessarily want kids.”

 

“That’s not what I was saying,” Gavin said, even though Spencer thought that it was. Whatever. He wasn’t going to argue. It was late, and he was enjoying this vacation for the most part, and he didn’t want to fight about anything. Gavin was safe, because Gavin wasn’t connected to music or married or only with Spencer for sex. Spencer wasn’t going to fuck that up over a little misunderstanding. 

 

“I know,” Spencer said. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s alright,” Gavin said. He kissed Spencer again. Spencer kissed back, leaning more over Gavin so that Gavin was on his back and Spencer was almost on top of him. He’d brought a strap-on, but he wasn’t planning to use it, and there was no good way to sneak out, put it on, and come back in. He and Gavin were both sober. Gavin would ask questions if Spencer tried to do that. 

 

Spencer pulled back and propped himself up on one elbow. “Have you ever dated a bi guy before, or am I your first?”

 

“You’re not my first,” Gavin said. “But you’re the first guy I’ve dated who slept with other people.”

 

“I could… not do that, if it makes you uncomfortable,” Spencer said. He’d been thinking about cutting things off with Mikey anyway. After meeting Gabe, and then Mikey’s band, Spencer felt weird about fucking him. It felt wrong now. 

 

Spencer knew it was wrong, because Mikey was married and Mikey was famous and there was no way their affair could end well. He’d done it because it was easier than going out and finding someone who was okay with a trans guy, though. Spencer had Gavin now, so he didn’t need to go out and have sex with strangers, because he had a boyfriend. And he could come out to Gavin, or they could take things slow since Gavin was gay and had probably never dealt with someone like Spencer before. 

 

“I’d appreciate that, actually,” Gavin said. He looked up at Spencer, and he looked a little hurt. “I meant to bring it up earlier, but we’ve been dating for almost three months. I don’t… it’s a little insulting that you’re still sleeping with that guy. I don’t know if you take us seriously or not.”

 

“I do,” Spencer said. “And. And I was thinking about ending things with him anyway.”

 

Gavin nodded. “Good.”

 

“It wasn’t a good situation in the first place,” Spencer said. He didn’t want to go into details about things with him and Mikey. If he couldn’t rationalise it to himself, he knew that there was no way he’d be able to rationalise it to Gavin, and Spencer cared more about Gavin than he did Mikey. Mikey was an interesting guy, but Spencer couldn’t imagine himself in a serious relationship with him. Gavin was better in the long run. 

 

“How so?” Gavin asked. He frowned. “He didn’t hit you, did he? Because if he did--”

 

“No,” Spencer said. “Mikey never did anything I wasn’t okay with. But he was in a relationship with someone else, and it wasn’t like with us, where he asked her permission to sleep with me.”

 

“Christ, Spencer, why’d you even have sex with him if he was with a woman?” Gavin said, shaking his head. 

 

Spencer laughed, mostly at himself but also because he wasn’t sure how he felt about the question. It wouldn’t have mattered if Mikey was married to Alicia or Pete or anyone else. The gender didn’t matter to Spencer so much as the relationship status. He held Gavin’s hand in his own. “I don’t know. Really. I think I had an explanation from before we got serious, but now I don’t have one. So, it’s over. It’s just going to be me and you now.”

 

Gavin kissed Spencer, turning him over onto his back. “That’s perfectly fine with me.”

 

* * *

 

**February 2, 2007; Las Vegas, Nevada.**

 

_ ry: we need to work on the album :/ _

_ spence: don’t :/ me also yea _

_ ry: studio sessions suck and im not moving to la just for music purposes _

_ spence: rent somewhere? _

_ ry: where _

_ spence: depends on the kind of album we want _

_ ry: i dont wanna be stuck in emo land, so… _

_ spence: u and jon have been heading into beatles territory recently, wanna get stoned and see what happens _

_ ry: lol _

_ ry: cabin? _

_ spence: yeah. probably a better idea than copying cobra starship and doing drugs in the desert _

 

Spencer leaned over the kitchen counter. “Hey, how do you guys feel about getting a cabin?”

 

“What would we do with it?” Brendon asked. He was stretched across two different chairs and cradling his guitar in his arms. Dallon was seated next to him, with their laptop open. The two had been singing miniature covers of Bowie songs while Spencer tried to figure out something for the three of them to have for dinner. Brendon strummed a chord. “Are we starting a cult?”

 

“No,” Spencer said, rolling his eyes. “It’d be for recording the next album. It’s been almost two years. Fall Out Boy’s releasing their album in four days, and we still haven’t figured out a theme. Ry and Jon suggested we get a cabin or rent some place where we won’t have to deal with non-band stuff and figure something out from there.”

 

“I’m down,” Dallon said. 

 

Brendon nodded, and then went back to his guitar. Dallon started typing something on their laptop and Spencer went back to what he’d been doing before. He ended up throwing together a stir fry, with minute rice instead of real rice because it was already nine in the evening and Spencer was trying to keep a normal schedule when they weren’t all on tour. 

 

He turned around once the stir fry was finished and ready to be served out, and saw that Brendon was leaning over Dallon while the two of them looked at their laptop. Spencer leaned against the counter, careful not to hit any of the food. “Did you guys find something?”

 

“Cabins,” Dallon said. They looked up for a moment. “Is the food ready?”

 

“Yeah, you guys can come get it,” Spencer said. He moved to the side as Dallon came over. Brendon set his guitar back down in it’s stand and followed them, and then the three of them gathered around their little kitchen table. The apartment felt live in now, especially with Bogart running around at their feet. 

 

As if he could tell when Spencer was thinking about him, Bogart appeared at Spencer’s side, panting and giving Spencer pitiful eyes. Spencer shook his head. “This isn’t for you, bud. You’ve got your own food bowl by the window.”

 

“Aw, come on, look at him,” Brendon said. He looked at his food and then at Spencer. “It won’t kill him to have a little.”

 

“It’s vegetarian. He’ll probably hate it,” Spencer said. He ate a forkful of rice and then leaned into Dallon’s personal space. “What were you guys saying about cabins again?”

 

“Brendon and I found a few options,” Dallon said. They tilted the screen toward Spencer, and scrolled up and down for him. Most of the cabins were in Colorado or Wyoming, with a few in the northern parts of Nevada. Spencer figured they’d go with one of the cabins in Colorado, since it was somewhat between the three of them and Rochelle and Jon. 

 

Spencer nodded. “Those look great. Have you sent any to Rochelle or Jon?”

 

“Not yet,” Dallon said. “Figured I’d do that when we weren’t eating dinner.”

 

The three of them ended up calling Rochelle up on Skype while they finished their food to talk about music shit. Jon was there too, holding their new cats. All five of them wanted to do that cabin thing, and disappear from the world for a bit to get creative. The only possible issue was Pete, because they were technically under his label and therefore, if they were going to rent the cabin, they’d need his permission. 

 

Of course, that wasn’t an issue at all, because Jon texted Pete and got an immediate winking emoji in response. All five of them took that as Pete being okay, and so Dallon booked a cabin up in Hayden, Colorado. It had three bedrooms, and was miles from the actual town of Hayden. Panic! at the Disco was going to be as far away from reality as they could get without losing internet access. 

 

* * *

 

**December 31, 2009; Los Angeles, California.**

 

Dallon wasn’t sure how they felt about being in Los Angeles. Sure, it was what they’d dreamed of when they were younger and still thought they could be whoever they wanted, but things were different now. Los Angeles felt empty. It was a giant lie, full of sun kissed bodies and late night scandals and everyone’s perfect smile. 

 

Dallon made up their mind about Los Angeles while they drank their wine and listened to Brendon and Patrick discuss jazz. They didn’t hate it, but they wished they’d kept it a dream instead of reality. Moving to Los Angeles was supposed to feel like a win. It was supposed to happen when Dallon finally got away from their family, and from all of the shit they’d had to grow up with. This wasn’t a win. This was two people pretending to be a band, and pretending they knew how to write an album and carry a fanbase on their own. This wasn’t a win. This felt more like running away. 

 

Brendon squeezed Dallon’s thigh. “Hey. You doing okay? You look like you’re about to cry?”

 

“Hm? Oh, no, I’m fine,” Dallon said. They leaned over and kissed Brendon and tried to act like they were having a good time. Pete’s new house was gorgeous. It was sleek and modern and there was a pool now that most of the party-goers had jumped into already. Brendon was surprisingly still closed, but Dallon knew that would change. Brendon dealt with negative emotions by acting like he was super confident. It wouldn’t be long until he was stripping down and dancing with someone he’d only met.

 

“You’re sure?” Brendon asked. He was frowning. Dallon’s mouth tasted like their own lipstick and grapes. They nodded, because they couldn’t put their finger on why they didn’t want to be in LA, and they didn’t want to try and figure it out here. This wasn’t the time or the place. 

 

A woman in a bikini top and skinny jeans walked by the three of them. Dallon watched her go, not sexualising her, just observing. They were never sure who they were supposed to be. There wasn’t any judgement or expectation from their friends, but the world wanted Dallon to be a man or a woman, and they knew that they couldn’t be either of those. They were stuck in the middle, but off to the side of the binary that had been set up before them. 

 

Dallon rolled their eyes at themself and finished their wine. They were thinking too much. This was Los Angeles. People didn’t think too much here. 

 

They leaned over and kissed Brendon on the cheek. “I’m gonna get some fresh air. I’ll be right back.”

 

“Alright. Make sure you don’t miss midnight, though,” Brendon said. He pulled Dallon down for a real kiss, and for a moment Dallon thought about just taking him back to their house and not dealing with people. They didn’t, though, because they were more than just a person from Nevada now, and they had a reputation and an image to fit into. 

 

Dallon hated that everything in the music industry was hidden under several layers of photoshop. They didn’t pick up a bass in college because they wanted to be the hot new commodity. They picked it up because they had friends who wanted a band and they didn’t know any bassists. Dallon was a fast learner, and since they were already planning to be the singer, they figured learning an instrument wouldn’t hurt either. And look where that had gotten them. A nice house in West Hollywood with the hottest bisexual in the city. 

 

Brendon had been called that, a few months back. There were gay magazines now, which made Dallon happy, but they were just as sexualised as the pop culture ones, and when Brendon made the cover he was mostly naked and with a guy on one leg and a girl on the other. Was it insulting to Brendon? Yes, of course. But it was also insulting to Dallon, who realised that they weren’t either of those people and that the world was going to throw them on one of Brendon’s legs or the other, but never on both. 

 

Dallon bent over and took off their shoes. They were too tall for heels anyway, and the backs of their shoes were digging into their ankles. Dallon held the shoes in their hands and then looked out at Pete’s backyard. There was a fence overlooking the valley of Los Angeles. It was still lit up, with everyone celebrating and happy because the next decade was about to roll in. 

 

Dallon rolled their eyes and hurled their shoes over the fence. Some weird Panic! fan with a foot fetish could have them. Dallon just needed something to throw. 

 

“Do you want those back?” someone asked from behind them. 

 

Dallon turned around and crossed their arms before staring Joe down. “I’m having a night, I guess. I’m not usually like this.”

 

“Trust me, I know,” Joe said. “We’ve toured together. I’ve seen all of you guys at your weirdest, so I know what it looks like.”

 

He came over and leaned against the fence beside Dallon. He had a bottle of beer in his hand, and it looked more expensive than anything Dallon had ever put into their body. They didn’t get how Pete and his friends could just throw money around like it was nothing. Dallon thought they were supposed to be against the lifestyles of the rich and famous. 

 

“I do know what Pete gets like when he’s about to do something stupid that could potentially get someone hurt or in trouble, and it usually looks like this,” Joe said. 

 

Dallon raised an eyebrow. “I’m not Pete.”

 

“I know,” Joe said. He took a sip of his beer. “And you don’t have to act like it, either. A lot of this stuff sucks ass, but you don’t have to play into it. You can just be you.”

 

“Easy for your to say,” Dallon said, and then bit their tongue. As far as they knew, Joe was straight and cis and didn’t have any impossible boxes to fit into. 

 

“I don’t have the same situation as you, but I not only met my idol, I ended up in a band with him. There’s a reason why they tell you not to do that,” Joe said. He looked up at Dallon. Joe and Rochelle were around the same age, and they’d been in the same boat at one point in their life. They’d looked up to Pete Wentz, followed him around on tour, and devoted most of their teenage years to the guy. But Joe had ended up in Pete’s band and Rochelle was now in Seattle. 

 

Joe shook his head. “I love Pete like a brother, don’t get me wrong, but he’s a douche sometimes. And he doesn’t understand that this isn’t Fall Out Boy. We’re not… we’re not something that can be bought, or sold out, or commercialised, and this shit,” he motioned to the house party, “makes me wonder if I should have just stayed in Chicago.”

 

“We’re here now,” Dallon said. 

 

“I think Fall Out Boy’s gonna go their own way soon,” Joe said. “I’ve been looking into other projects, Pete and Andy are doing their weird mind-meld thing again, and Patrick’s… he’s Patricking. The guy’s a genius but I never know where he is musically.”

 

“Maybe a split is a good thing for you guys then,” Dallon said. “Better than exploding into chaos.”

 

“Yeah, you guys were kind of a lesson for everyone else in the business. Don’t try to make something work when it isn’t,” Joe said. He ran his hand through his hair, taking a minute to get a few of the curly tangles out. “You’ve talked with Brendon about it, right? Where you guys are going now that you have the band?”

 

“We have a plan,” Dallon said. The plan was to make an album and then avoid each other for a few months until they both had to admit that they needed replacement members. The plan was to never bring up Spencer, or what had happened in Cape Town, because there were a lot of things that the two of them needed to talk about. Those were two of them, but Brendon and Dallon didn’t talk. Not about the hard shit.

 

Dallon remembered the year between Breezy dying and leaving for Chicago. They were still friends with Brendon, because they had no one else to go to, but they didn’t ever bring her up. Spencer had been the one to ask questions, and to make Dallon and Brendon both unpack their grief and figure out what to do next. Spencer wasn’t in Dallon’s life anymore, though, and they didn’t think they’d let him back in again if he showed up on their doorstep. 

 

Joe nodded. “That’s good. A plan is better than no plan.”

 

“Is this what you thought LA would be like?” Dallon asked. They looked down at Joe. “I mean, being a rockstar and everything. Is this how you imagined it?”

 

“When I was fourteen and stole underwear model magazines, yeah,” Joe said. “But after I really got into the Chicago scene? No, absolutely not. I didn’t even want to go to LA, for the longest time, but after Cork Tree and IOH, it was impossible to stay in Chicago. Fall Out Boy was Chicago, and I couldn’t get anywhere without someone knowing who I was. It sucked ass.”

 

“I can imagine,” Dallon said. They’d been stopped by fans in public sometimes. The fans were usually nice and polite, and most of them were trans or questioning their gender and just wanted to thank Dallon for being open and out about who they were. Dallon couldn’t be mad at them. 

 

Joe sighed. “But I know what you mean. It feels fake, sometimes, and not in a  _ pinch me, I’m dreaming _ kind of way.”

 

“I just don’t know where else I’d be if I wasn’t here,” Dallon said. “Las Vegas has too much of a taint to it, and while I didn’t hate Chicago, I don’t want to live there for the rest of my life. I feel like I’m stuck here.”

 

“I guess you’ll have to make it feel like home, then,” Joe said. He was right. Dallon knew that he was right, and they hated it. Los Angeles wasn’t supposed to be home. It was supposed to be a goal. Except now, Dallon had achieved that goal, and instead of feeling victorious, they felt emptier than ever. 

 

* * *

 

**February 10, 2007; Hayden, Colorado.**

 

The cabin was gorgeous. It wasn’t super huge, but it was rustic and it made Spencer feel like he’d stepped out of the modern world and into a new one. He, Brendon, and Dallon had been here for two days, because unlike Rochelle and Jon, they didn’t have to kennel their pet. Bogart was here with them, and he was shaking with excitement. 

 

“Bogart and I are going outside!” Dallon called from downstairs. 

 

“Don’t get lost!” Spencer yelled back. One of the great things about the cabin was that no one could complain about them smoking. Brendon was currently laid out across Spencer’s lap, blowing smoke up at his face. Spencer leaned over and took the joint from Brendon before placing it into the teacup they’d stolen from the kitchen downstairs. He kissed down Brendon’s neck. “Don’t do that.”

 

“Why not?” Brendon said, and leaned his head back to give Spencer better access. 

 

“Because it’s gross,” Spencer said. Brendon was also shirtless, because there was no one around to tell him to wear clothes, and so he wasn’t. Spencer was not complaining. He was secretly hoping that Dallon would come back and walk in on them, because there was something really awesome about two suddenly becoming three. 

 

Either that, or Spencer had some really weird kinks that he didn’t need to get into. He wasn’t too worried about the answer. 

 

Brendon whimpered as Spencer sucked down on the skin under his nipple. Spencer could feel Brendon getting hard against his stomach, but he didn’t acknowledge it. He wanted to draw this out, see how long he could tease Brendon before Brendon demanded he do something. Brendon was definitely a whiny bottom in bed. Spencer hoped the internet never figured that out, because then Rochelle would have accurate lemon fics to send him when she was bored. Spencer didn’t want to accidentally give her that kind of power. 

 

“Are you getting distracted?” Brendon whined out. “Seriously?”

 

“I don’t understand why the fans think you’re anything but submissive,” Spencer said before grinding his hips down on Brendon and making him moan. Spencer took both of Brendon’s wrists in his hand and moved them above Brendon’s head. Brendon’s arm muscles tensed up and he looked at Spencer through half-lidded eyes. Spencer ducked down and bit Brendon’s bicep, and Brendon yelped. “I mean, shit, do you even know how to be dominant?”

 

“I think it’s because I initiate the stuff on stage,” Brendon gasped. 

 

Spencer nodded, and raked his nails down the underside of Brendon’s other arm. “Maybe let Dallon do it next time.”

 

“Do you want me to pop a boner on stage?” Brendon asked, raising an eyebrow at Spencer. Spencer sat up, pressing down on Brendon’s wrists, and just stared at him. Brendon swallowed. “Shit, Spence, that’s…  _ okay _ .”

 

“Okay how?” Spencer said. 

 

“Okay as in I never really thought about it but um, yeah,” Brendon said, nodding. “Kind of hot. Kind of terrifying.”

 

“Remind me next time we have a show,” Spencer said, and leaned in to kiss Brendon again. Brendon opened his mouth for Spencer, and the kiss was wet. Spencer curled his toes around the sheets at the other end of the bed. He bit down on Brendon’s lower lip so that he didn’t groan out loud when Brendon’s erection rubbed up against him. 

 

Spencer heard distant barking, followed by Dallon’s voice, and he pressed down harder against Brendon’s wrists. Brendon whined, and Spencer went back to his neck. The good thing about being off tour was that Spencer could mark Brendon and Dallon wherever he felt like it. He didn’t have to pay attention to where he was biting, because no one would see the hickeys he left behind. 

 

Spencer could hear Dallon coming up the stairs, and the door to their bedroom was still open, so he wasn’t surprised when he felt the bed dip behind him. He slowly removed himself from Brendon and sat back on his knees. He grinned at Dallon. “Hey.”

 

“I left you two alone for ten minutes to walk the dog,” Dallon said, and then they threw themself at Spencer. Spencer reached out and grabbed the wall so that he and Dallon didn’t fall down on top of Brendon. He curled his other hand around Dallon’s neck and stroked at their hair, letting them know that there was no need to rush. Dallon dipped their fingers under Spencer’s waistband. “You’re wearing clothes.”

 

“I do that,” Spencer said against their mouth. 

 

“Stop it,” Dallon said. Spencer raised an eyebrow, but he stopped making out with Dallon long enough to lift his shirt over his head and toss it onto the floor. Brendon had somehow gotten his pants off even though his legs were tangled up with Spencer’s, and he was palming his dick and looking like he wanted at least one of them to fuck him already. 

 

Dallon pulled their own shirt over their head, and then unzipped their pants before leaning between Spencer and Brendon and kissing across Brendon’s neck. Spencer slid one leg out from between the two of them and climbed on top of Dallon, kissing their shoulder blades. He ran his fingers up through Dallon’s hair, scratching their scalp a little, and Dallon shivered under them. Spencer smiled into their shoulder, and then bit them gently before sliding down to their hips. 

 

“He’s just been teasing me, because he’s an asshole,” Brendon said while Spencer took Dallon’s pants off. Dallon hummed in agreement. 

 

Spencer pinched their ass, since he was down there already. “Don’t agree with him. Brendon, you know you turn into a little baby after you come. I was being nice.”

 

“You were being an asshole,” Brendon said. “You didn’t even finger me, what the hell?”

 

“Dallon’s fingers are longer,” Spencer said, and took off his own pants. The three of them shuffled around each other as they got their underwear off, and then, once everyone was naked, Brendon turned over onto his back and wiggled his ass in the air. Spencer gave it a good pat. “Yes, exactly.”

 

“Where’d you put the lube?” Dallon asked. Spencer pointed to where it was, and Dallon took a moment to kiss Spencer before actually getting it and pouring some over their hand. Dallon really did have nice hands. Spencer bit his lip, watching them move back to Brendon. Dallon pressed a finger into Brendon, and Brendon leaned into it, pushing against Dallon’s hand. 

 

Spencer moved around so that he was on the other side of Brendon, and lifted him up off of his elbows. Brendon smiled. “Hi.”

 

“This feels weird, hold on,” Dallon said. They placed their free hand on Brendon’s hip before pulling their fingers out and turning their hand around. Dallon leaned over and kissed Brendon’s shoulder. “You guys need to tell me when you’re moving around. I can’t read your minds.”

 

“Sorry,” Spencer said. He kissed Dallon and reached down under Brendon to grab his dick. He didn’t really stroke it, instead running his knuckles gently over the head. Brendon placed his hands on Spencer’s thighs and nuzzled against his chest. His hair tickled, and Spencer pulled him away. “Did you want something?”

 

“Can I blow you?” Brendon asked. 

 

Spencer wasn’t going to say no to that, so he maneuvered himself half under Brendon. Dallon pulled their fingers out and then rolled on a condom, and Spencer thought for a moment that it would be interesting to try and fuck Dallon while they were fucking Brendon. He put his hand over Brendon’s mouth. “Wait. Hold on, I changed my mind.”

 

“Jeez,” Brendon said against Spencer’s hand. 

 

Dallon sat down on the mattress while Spencer moved around the room, pulling out his strap-on and the harness that came with it. They popped the bottle of lube open and then closed it again. “You’re fucking Brendon?”

 

“I want to fuck you,” Spencer said, and clipped the harness into place. He looked up at his boyfriend and partner. “While you fuck Brendon.”

 

“Ooh, I’m down for that,” Brendon said. He had his face smashed into the pillow now, and was grinning up at Spencer. “Are you gonna finger Dallon while they fuck me, too?”

 

“If you can hold out for that long,” Spencer said, and climbed up on the bed behind Dallon. He took the lube from them and opened it, pouring some out over his hand. He ran his other hand over Dallon’s back, feeling their muscles move as they leaned over Brendon to push into him. Spencer waited until he heard Brendon moan, knowing Dallon was in him, and then he pushed a finger into Dallon. 

 

“Ah, okay,” Dallon gasped. They tensed up around Spencer, and he kissed their back. This was cool. Spencer couldn’t really see Brendon from this angle, but he could hear him. Brendon was loud, and very vocal about how he felt during sex. The three of them didn't have a lot of bus sex unless there was a gag nearby that they could put on Brendon. 

 

Spencer added a second finger and leaned up so that he could kiss at the back of Dallon’s neck. Their hair was almost to their shoulders, and Spencer swiped it away before nibbling up the side of their neck as he fingered them. His strap-on brushed between Dallon’s thighs and Dallon groaned against Brendon. Spencer laced his fingers up through Dallon’s hair but didn’t pull on it. “You ready?”

 

“Hell yeah,” Dallon said. They turned their head and kissed Spencer, pulling at his lower lip for a moment as Spencer pulled his fingers out. Spencer pulled away from the kiss to line himself up, and then he grabbed onto Dallon’s hips and pushed in. 

 

He was flush against Dallon, and he could see Brendon now, over Dallon’s shoulder. Brendon was sweating, with one hand under his body and clutching at his dick. Spencer pressed his face against Dallon for a moment and then thrust into them, and they pushed into Brendon in response. It was like a chain of dominos, with Spencer in control of how fast they went and when they paused.

 

“Fuck,” Brendon moaned. “Fuck, I’m gonna--”

 

“Do it,” Spencer moaned back. He reached around both of them with the intention of grabbing Brendon’s dick to help him off, but there was too much movement and he ended up just slapping at Brendon’s thigh until Brendon came under him and Dallon both. 

 

Dallon leaned back, further onto Spencer, and pulled out of Brendon. Brendon turned over onto his stomach and immediately went down on Dallon. Spencer got a shot of his cum-stained chest, though, and he slammed against Dallon to cover a moan of his own. Dallon leaned their head back as Spencer fucked them, proving that they were flexible and kissing Spencer. It was dirty kissing, the kind that was usually reserved for back rooms after shows and nameless gas station bathrooms. 

 

Spencer still had his hand in Dallon’s hair, and when he curled his fingers around the strands and pulled, Dallon came. They moaned into Spencer’s mouth, loud, and jerked against both boys. Brendon choked, and Spencer pulled away from his kiss with Dallon to laugh for a second. 

 

He pulled out of Dallon and scrambled out of his shit so that he could touch himself, because he knew it wouldn’t take much to get off at this point. 

 

“Did you just laugh at me choking on cum?” Brendon exclaimed. 

 

“If I wasn’t the one cumming I would have laughed too,” Dallon said. They laid down next to Spencer, half on top of him, and wrapped their hand around his dick. Dallon kissed Spencer slowly, and Spencer grabbed onto their thigh because Dallon had nice legs and it was a good place to hold onto. Dallon ran their lips down Spencer’s neck. “You sounded like a dying dog, Bren. It was kind of funny.”

 

“I could have died,” Brendon said. “And now my mouth tastes like nut.”

 

“Sounds like a person-ahh--” Spencer squeaked, and jerked up into Dallon’s hand before cumming over them. He let the orgasm roll over his body, digging his fingernails into Dallon’s leg and curling towards them. Spencer breathed, feeling his body melt into the mattress. He reached up and pushed his hair out of his face, and looked up at Dallon. “That was awesome.”

 

“Thanks, I’ve been told I have nice hands,” Dallon said. They kissed Spencer’s shoulder and then sat up, slowly. They turned their hand over, and then looked Brendon up and down. “We should both shower.”

 

“I have cum  _ everywhere _ ,” Brendon said. He didn’t sound like he was complaining. 

 

Spencer let the two of them clean themselves off, and went to the other bathroom to clean off his strap-on. Even though he was only using it on Brendon and Dallon, and all three of them were clean, he didn’t want anything to grow on his stuff. That would be nasty. Sex toys were expensive too, and even though Spencer wasn’t strapped for cash, he didn’t want to spend more money on another dick when he had a perfectly functional one right in front of him. 

 

He looked at himself in the mirror, and tilted his chin up for a moment. He’d been on T for almost eighteen months, and he looked like any other man. He’d started growing facial hair, but he was afraid that it would look bad if he let it grow in fully, so he was still shaving it. Jon had a beard though, and Jon looked good with a beard. Spencer was thinking about just not shaving while they were in the cabin, and if it looked bad, at least no one would see it. 

 

“Are you having an existential crisis while you wash your dick?” Dallon asked from the doorway. They were still naked, and running a towel through their hair. 

 

Spencer shook his head. “No. I was thinking about growing a beard.”

 

Dallon’s eyebrows shot up. 

 

Spencer frowned. “Is that a bad plan?”

 

“Absolutely not,” Dallon said. “I was kind of hoping one of you would grow one. I’m into beards.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Spencer said, and winked. He headed back to the bedroom and quickly changed the sheets out since they’d already ruined them. Spencer wasn’t surprised. He felt bad for all the maids that cleaned beds Panic! had slept in. They didn’t get a lot of hotel nights, and when they did, they used them well. There was a lot of sex on tour, but none of it was on the bus. 

 

The three of them ended up in bed, not asleep but not fully awake, and still naked. Brendon was the one closest to the wall, with Spencer in the middle and Dallon on the other end. The door was still open, so that they could hear whenever Rochelle and Jon got there. 

 

A while later, after Spencer had drifted off for a bit, he heard something from downstairs. He sat up slowly, careful not to disrupt Dallon or Brendon, and squinted. Somehow, he thought that would help him hear better. 

 

He heard Jon’s voice, and nodded to himself before falling back down into the mattress. Dallon and Brendon were warm, and Colorado in February was not. Spencer saw no reason to move. 

 

He regretted that less than a minute later when Jon came in through the door, unaware that the rest of his band was naked and in bed together. At least they weren’t fucking. That would have been awkward. Jon kicked his suitcase back into the hall. “So I see you’ve already claimed this room…”

 

“We’re naked but I won’t move if it makes you feel better,” Spencer said. Dallon laughed into his shoulder, and Spencer pinched them. He smiled up at Jon. “How was the trip?”

 

“Good,” Jon said. He looked over his shoulder. “Fair warning.”

 

“What…?” Spencer said, only to be interrupted by Rochelle bursting into the room. She was holding a CD in her hand, and she actually hurled it at Spencer. He threw his hands up so that he didn’t get hit in the face with a piece of plastic, and then sat up to see what exactly his best friend had tried to kill him with. It was blue, with a sheep and a moon on the cover… and Fall Out Boy written beside the moon. Spencer stared up at Rochelle, giving her a bitch face. “Did you just try to kill me with a Fall Out Boy album?”

 

“Have you heard this shit?” she said, instead of answering Spencer’s question. 

 

Spencer twirled the CD around. “I don’t even know what this shit is.”

 

“Jesus Christ, all of you put on pants and get downstairs in five minutes or I will educate you while you’re naked,” Rochelle said, and grabbed the CD back. “I mean it. I will make you three shiver.”

 

“Why is she so threatening when she makes no sense?” Brendon said. Jon shrugged, and left the room with his girlfriend so that Brendon, Dallon, and Spencer could get some clothes on. 

 

Five minutes later, as requested, they were all down in the main area of the cabin, and Rochelle was sitting in a chair and looking a bit regal. Jon had his laptop open, and looked like he’d heard what she was about to say before. It wasn’t a look of annoyance, but one of acceptance and absolutely no concern. Whatever Rochelle was about to tell the band wouldn’t destroy them. It was still important, though, if Jon was here to hear it a second time. 

 

“So what’s up?” Spencer said, taking the end of the couch closest to her. 

 

Rochelle sighed. “So. You guys are going to think I’ve never left my time of being a fangirl, and you’re right. But I’m justified this time.”

 

Spencer frowned. “Did Pete come out?”

 

“You know he’s never going to do that,” Rochelle said, rolling her eyes. She and Spencer were in agreement that Pete was bi, and that he was hiding it for no reason at this point. He had a band signed to his record that was entirely not straight. He had another band with a lead singer who was eighteen and from Tennessee and had come out as bisexual in the most professional way possible. There was no reason for him to hide it. It was just getting annoying at this point. 

 

Spencer nodded. “Right. Okay, so, what happened?”

 

“He might as well have come out, though,” Rochelle said. She popped open the CD case and pulled out the lyric booklet before flipping through it. Spencer felt like he was getting a bedtime story from the world’s weirdest mom. “Listen to this:  _ I wrote a goodbye note in lipstick on your arm when you passed out. I couldn’t bring myself to call, except to call it quits, _ and then the chorus is literally about being better off as lovers and running around in cities in the summer and, listen. Spencer. This is about Mikey Way.”

 

“That’s not even the best one,” Jon said from behind his laptop.

 

Rochelle gave him a look. “Yes it is. Everything else is just icing on the cake.”

 

“I fucking hate icing,” Brendon said. 

 

“Then it’s better than… leaves on the salad. I don’t know how to make vegan metaphors,” Rochelle said. 

 

“You used to write fics with Andy and Pete, both of whom are vegans,” Jon said. 

 

“Let me finish,” Rochelle said to him. She turned back to Spencer and his partners. Rochelle turned the lyric book around so that Spencer could see the song she was talking about, and it didn’t take him long to understand the general point. It was a love song, but not one with a happy ending, and even though Spencer had never been through that, he could still feel the pain involved. 

 

Spencer looked up. “What are the other ones?”

 

“Pretty much everything, but especially  _ Hum Hallelujah  _ and  _ I’m like a Lawyer _ ,” Rochelle said. “Jon thinks that they’re better proof, but I disagree. I mean, obviously all three songs point to Mikey and Pete having a shitty break up, which we already knew because we were pretty much there right after it happened, but  _ Bang the Doldrums _ is going to be the one that fans pick up on the fastest because so many of the lyrics came from Pete’s LiveJournal. And they’re all entries from the summer or 2005.”

 

“I mean, I can’t argue with you,” Spencer said. “But why is this ground-breaking? You already knew that Pete and Mikey were dating that summer. That’s why you had to delete your LiveJournal, isn’t it?”

 

“I didn’t have to delete it, I just wasn’t allowed to use it again,” Rochelle said. “And yes, I do know that, but the world didn’t and this… I mean, come on, you weren’t ever invested like I was, but you see it, right? How the hell is Pete going to heterosexual his way out of this?”

 

Spencer looked at the lyric book. There weren’t any pronouns to signify that Pete was writing about a guy or a girl. He frowned. “I mean. Alicia Simmons? He could say it was about her?”

 

“Yes, because fans are going to believe that,” Rochelle said. She rolled her eyes. “Spence, be serious.”

 

“I am being serious! They dated, didn’t they?” Spencer said. He was pretty sure he remembered Rochelle going on about how she wished she was Alicia Simmons so that she could date Pete and not have to worry about her future some time back in 2003. Fans knew that, too, because Alicia and Pete had posted plenty of pics together, and it wasn’t hard to do that math about that. 

 

“They did, but she’s married to Mikey now, so it’s not important,” Rochelle said. She pressed her hands to her face for a moment, and looked over at Jon. Jon shrugged, and Spencer could tell that while he had opinions, he knew that this was Rochelle’s thing and that he was here only for commentary and support. Rochelle flipped her hair away from her face. “Pete can’t say that this was about Alicia, because there was no reason for him to hide their relationship unless she was cheating on Mikey. And I know that fandom hates her, but I don’t, and I don’t think she’d be the type to cheat. So Alicia’s ruled out, based on the timeline.”

 

“I…” Spencer said. “I don’t know how he’s gonna cover it, then.”

 

Rochelle made jazz hands. “Ta-da. And now you understand why I’m stressed.”

 

Spencer nodded. If Pete was still going to stay in the closet, this album was going to make that hard for him. It wasn’t explicitly gay the way some of Panic’s! songs were, but there weren’t any good explanations for the things Pete had written about. Unless he deleted his LiveJournal completely and prayed that no one had taken screenshots or saved any of his work, then the evidence would be there. And Rochelle was right: fans were smart. Nothing went over their heads. 

 

Dallon crossed their legs. “Pete shouldn’t have to come out, you know.”

 

“Maybe this  _ is _ him coming out,” Jon suggested. Spencer wanted to know what he was doing in his laptop. It looked intense. 

 

“I doubt it,” Dallon said. “I think he’d be a bit more obvious about it.”

 

“Pete’s never been obvious in his life,” Rochelle said, shaking her head. She frowned. “I don’t think this is coming out, but I think Jon’s more right than you are. It’s something, and it’s definitely gayer than we were expecting.”

 

“Are we the Fall Out Boy fans or Pete’s friends?” Brendon asked. 

 

Rochelle raised her eyebrows. “Both?”

 

Brendon nodded. He kicked his legs up over Dallon’s. “Well, hey, at least we’re all stuck in a cabin together now. We can just scream about the theories when we’re not working on music. It’ll keep us sane.”

 

“It’ll keep  _ you _ sane,” Rochelle said. She had a point. Rochelle tended to get far too invested in things that the rest of the world didn’t deem relevant. Spencer didn’t mind it, because even though he didn’t understand all of Rochelle’s interests, he still tried to support her. Being up here, away from Pete and anyone else in the business who would know what was going on… it would stress Rochelle out. She liked knowing things, even if she couldn’t change them. 

 

“We can call Pete,” Spencer offered. “Or someone else in the band, if you don’t think Pete would be honest with us.”

 

“On this? I don’t think he’d be honest with anyone,” Rochelle said. “I mean, it was a nasty breakup for a relationship no one knew about. Would you want to talk about it?”

 

“I’ve never been in that situation,” Spencer said. He couldn’t imagine he would want to talk about that, though. Breaking up sucked when people knew about the relationship. Spencer had to imagine that breaking up, and then not being able to talk about it with anyone, would suck even more. Pete’s only outlet was music right now, and he was using it. He just also happened to be a really popular musician, and so there would be a lot of people learning about his feelings very soon. 

 

Spencer took a deep breath. “We should get to work on the album. This is a lot.”

 

* * *

 

**January 2, 2010; London, England.**

 

Spencer cracked his knuckles. There was a part of him that realised that meeting Mikey at a bar to break up with him wasn’t the best idea. They both liked drinking, and fucking, and this was a good place for either of those. Spencer picked it because he was too much of a coward to go somewhere smart. He was bad at confrontation now, apparently. At least he’d learned from his mistakes. 

 

He took a deep breath and drank from his beer. He didn’t even like beer that much, unless it was the fancy kind, but he hated ordering the fancy kind because it made him look pretentious. Spencer wasn’t pretentious. Rochelle was pretentious, but she made it look cool. 

 

Spencer noticed Mikey before Mikey noticed Spencer. He looked hot, which sucked because it made things harder. He was wearing a leather vest and a striped t-shirt that Spencer hadn’t seen before, and his sunglasses were tucked into the collar of his shirt. He looked so casual. He had no idea what was about to happen. 

 

Spencer rolled his eyes at himself. This wasn’t a fucking soap opera, and he and Mikey weren’t secretly in love but being split apart because of family drama or whatever. It was a friends with benefits set up, and Spencer didn’t have feelings for Mikey. Mikey hopefully didn’t have any feelings for Spencer, but at this point, it was too late to do anything about it. Mikey and Spencer were over, and they could be friends but they couldn’t be anything else. Spencer was doing this for Gavin, because he was falling in love with the guy and he wanted to respect his wishes. 

 

Even if Spencer didn’t really agree with Gavin’s wishes, but that was a mental conversation for a different night at a different bar. 

 

Mikey sat down beside Spencer and ordered an expensive beer without thinking about it. He turned toward Spencer and looked him up and down. “You look good.”

 

“I’m not sleeping with you anymore,” Spencer blurted out. Okay. So he wasn’t rash when it came to confronting people, but he was still an idiot who blurted shit out without thinking about it. Cape Town hadn’t solved everything. Spencer swallowed. “I mean. Gavin and I… we’re getting serious. He’s not comfortable with me sleeping with other people and being his boyfriend, and I understand that, and I respect that, and I’m… I don’t cheat.”

 

Mikey raised an eyebrow. Right. Mikey did cheat, apparently. He nodded. “I can see that.”

 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Spencer said, except that he kind of had meant it like that. He took another sip of his beer. “I just meant that I have different lines from you, and I don’t cross mine, I guess. I’m bad at metaphors.”

 

“You make sense,” Mikey said. “And I understand.”

 

He took a long drink from his beer and stared past Spencer for a moment. He was thinking, and Spencer let him. He wasn’t young or naive enough to think that anything he’d said would change Mikey’s mind about cheating on Alicia. Spencer couldn’t change people, just himself. He didn't really want to change Mikey anyway. Mikey was his own person, and his and Spencer’s lives weren’t meant to interact. 

 

Mikey turned his attention back to Spencer. “If that changes, don’t be afraid to call me. We were only sex; I won’t get jealous.”

 

“I wouldn’t want you to be,” Spencer said. He pulled his wallet out and paid for his drink, and then he left. He didn’t want to stick around for too long, or see what Mikey would do on his own. It had been easier than he expected. Spencer was ready to get back to the flat, though, because he’d promised to Skype Linda and he didn’t want to make her wait. She didn’t have a lot of spare time. 

 

He took the subway back, and watched the people get on and off. There was a group of punk looking teenage girls who were sitting on the other end of the car, and they were talking loudly amongst themselves. One of them had most of her head shaved, and a tiny little mohawk in the center of her head. Spencer smiled at that. It was like she was a baby punk, and she hadn’t fully evolved yet. The girls reminded him of the scene queens Rochelle had tried to imitate back in high school, too.

 

_ “The more you mess up your hair, the more scene you are,” Ryan said as she opened up a can of hairspray and started spraying. Spencer pulled his hand up to his mouth so he didn't breathe it in. Ryan tugged at some of the extensions she’d bought from Hot Topic. “It’s like, an evolution. You can tell how serious someone is about this by how big and long their hair is.” _

 

The girls got off before Spencer did, and he seemed to be the only one who wasn’t relieved by their departure. Old people were all the same. Spencer hoped he’d never turn into someone like that. 

 

He got back to the flat before midnight, which was new. Spencer usually came back at some time in the morning, either because he’d been out all night or because he’d been out running to escape his thoughts. He’d been running in the middle of the night less, and he couldn’t tell why that had changed. He hoped he was finally getting past all the shit that had happened in Cape Town. 

 

He decided to Skype Linda from his room, instead of upstairs. He wanted to be comfortable, and he couldn’t curl up in the dark in his and Gwyn’s living room. 

 

“Hey Spencer,” Linda said. She set her coffee down and shook out her ponytail. “What’s up?”

 

“So I’m not sleeping with Mikey anymore,” Spencer said. He sighed. “I know it’s for the best, since Mikey’s married and I really do like Gavin, but it just… something feels off.”

 

“Do you want my opinion?”

 

“No, I just like venting to someone thousands of miles away,” Spencer said drily. “Of course I want your opinion. You’re pretty much my best friend now.”

 

Linda sat up straight and looked around. She was in the University Library, with her headphones in, but Spencer could see people milling about in the background. He hoped that no one would look over and recognise his face on the screen. “I think you made the right choice. Not just for you, but for Mikey. It sucks ass knowing the person you’re with isn’t loyal, and I wouldn’t want you, or Mikey, or Mikey’s wife to be in that situation.”

 

“Are you talking about Sarah?” Spencer asked. It was a bit of a sore topic, but it had also been about three years since the two broke up. Spencer couldn’t imagine how Linda felt about it. Hayley Williams was a great person, and Spencer liked her enough, but she’d said some shitty, jealous things about Linda before she and Sarah started dating. And then there was the fact that Sarah had literally left Chicago to go live with Hayley only two months after they’d started seeing each other. 

 

The internet didn’t like Linda. They thought she was a prep, and a poser, and that she was only friends with Panic! for the money. It was all bullshit, especially since Linda was paying for her own college with her own money. 

 

Linda waved her hand around. “Eh, a little. I don’t think Alicia’ll write angry songs about you, if that’s what you’re saying.”

 

“Well, that’s good to know,” Spencer said. He moved further down into his sheets and moved his laptop so that it wasn’t so warm. He didn’t want it to overheat or breakdown or anything. “So, now that we’ve covered my relationship issues, what’s going on with you?”

 

“Oddly enough, I’ve actually started seeing a woman,” Linda said. She wiggled her eyebrows for the effect. “Nothing serious, since I’m literally about to pack up and move to LA as soon as I can get my replacement TA to get his shit together, but it’s fun.”

 

“When are you moving, exactly?” Spencer said. Linda had graduated in December but had stuck around in Chicago to tie up all of her loose ends. She was too involved in that campus for her own sanity, and now that she was leaving, she had to figure out how to fill in all the gaps she’d be leaving. 

 

“End of the month,” Linda said. “I don’t have a date, but I start at my new job on the 30th, so I have to be in LA before then. I don’t want to be jet-lagged on my first day, you know?”

 

“You could pull it off and no one would know,” Spencer said. 

 

“Yes, except that I don’t want to,” Linda said. She tapped the top of her coffee cup. “I’ve drank enough of this stuff that I can’t give blood any more because it comes out as coffee grounds. I’d like to fix that issue eventually.”

 

Spencer gave her a salute. “Good luck, then. I’ll let you get back to saving Chicago.”

 

Linda rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “That’s not what I do.”

 

“Might as well be,” Spencer said. Linda responded by hanging up on him and then sending a text that said  _ thanks btw. really appreciate u bub _ . Spencer responded with a picture of a cat giving a thumbs up and then shut his laptop off. He’d settled everything, and he was ready to call it a night. 

 

* * *

 

**March 9, 2007; Hayden, Colorado.**

 

Spencer and Brendon were playing Guitar Hero. Dallon and Jon were in the next room over, actually working on music. Rochelle was upstairs in her and Jon’s room, with the door locked, and writing away furiously. Spencer felt like he was supposed to be helping out with something, but the truth was that he wasn’t great at the writing process of music. He could figure out drums, but he wasn’t a writer. 

 

There was a knock on the door, followed by Jon yelling out, “I’ll get it!” Spencer gave a thumbs-up in Jon’s general direction before focusing back in on the game. Brendon was down on his knees for some reason, probably because he thought it would give him a better angle, and Spencer was standing like a normal person. Dallon whipped out their flip phone and took a picture of it. Spencer knew he had a serious bitch face when he was concentrated on something, and Brendon was far too expressive for his own good. 

 

Spencer flicked his gaze over to Dallon for a moment. “I saw that. Don’t put it on the internet if we look weird.”

 

“If you keep getting distracted, Brendon’s going to win,” Dallon said, They were smiling from behind their phone, so they’d already sent it to Jon and Rochelle, and probably Linda and Sarah. Brendon cackled, and Spencer swore under his breath, because Brendon really was beating him now. 

 

Brendon ended up winning, and Spencer dropped down dramatically onto the couch in defeat. Brendon screamed for glory and launched himself onto Spencer, falling down on his stomach. Spencer let out an “oof!” and curled into himself so that Brendon didn’t impale him with any more limbs. Brendon latched onto Spencer anyway, and hooked his chin over Spencer’s shoulder. “I won, babe. Now you owe me… something.”

 

“I’ll blow you later, just don’t kill me,” Spencer said, and tried not to roll both of them off the couch. 

 

“Linda’s here,” Jon called out. Spencer heard the door to the cabin shut, and he sat up. Brendon was still latched onto him. Jon and Linda came in through the front entrance, carrying her things. She looked tired. Jon set her bag down behind the couch and then walked around to climb on top of Spencer and Brendon. “We hate Paramore now, by the way.”

 

“We don’t  _ hate Paramore _ ,” Linda said, and dropped into an open chair. She pressed the heel of her palm against her cheek. “We don’t. I just… I’ve had a week.”

 

“Are you on break now?” Brendon asked. 

 

Linda shook her head. “No. I just needed to get out of Chicago for a bit. I couldn’t go to my parents about this, obviously, and you guys are pretty much family at this point, so I figured, hey, why not join you guys in a cabin in buttfuck nowhere, Colorado.”

 

Spencer frowned. “What happened?”

 

“Sarah moved to Los Angeles,” Linda said. 

 

Spencer nodded. “Yeah, two months ago. To go to beauty school there. Why… are you guys--”

 

“She and Hayley Williams are dating,” Linda said. “She broke up with me over the phone last Monday.”

 

“Wait, four days ago Monday, or a week and four days ago Monday?” Brendon asked. Linda held up a single finger. Brendon’s eyes widened. “Oh shit. Linda, I’m sorry, that sucks balls. Are you… she didn’t, like, cheat on you, did she?”

 

“No, but it was pretty clear  _ why  _ she broke up with me,” Linda said. She looked a little like she might start crying. Dallon came into the room then, quiet and softly. They walked over to Linda and let her lean into them. Dallon wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and Linda tucked her hair behind her ear. “Thanks. I’m not mad, but I am? I don’t know. It doesn’t feel real yet, you know? Like when something horrible happens on the news and it takes you weeks before you get that that was at thing that happened.”

 

“You can hang out here as long as you need,” Spencer said. “And we won’t bring Paramore or Sarah or Hayley up, ever.”

 

Linda laughed. “Spencer, I’m still in school. I can’t just disappear for a week. I have classes, and I’m a TA this semester.”

 

“You can hang out here for the weekend then,” Spencer said. “But spiritually, you can stay however long you need. We’re your friends. We’ve got your back.”

 

“Thanks,” Linda said. She smiled. 

 

Rochelle came down, as though she’d been summoned. Her hair was a bit of a mess, and there was a pencil sticking out from behind her ear. She had her notebook out, and was mouthing words under her mouth. Spencer knew that she’d made progress, good progress, but she wasn’t finished being creative and weird yet, so if he wanted her attention, he’d have to do it the old fashioned way. 

 

Spencer extracted himself from Brendon and walked over to Rochelle. He slowly pulled the notebook out of her hands and she looked up at him, a little dazed. Spencer stepped to the left. “Linda’s here.”

 

Rochelle stared at her for a moment. “Oh. Hi? Why?”

 

“Sarah dumped her for Hayley from Paramore,” Spencer said. “Sherri style, almost.”

 

Rochelle wrinkled her nose. Sherri was Rochelle’s ex-girlfriend, and the most famous one. She’d never been named in anything, but she was the reason  _ Lying _ existed. She was probably the reason for a few angsty Petekey fanfictions as well, but Spencer didn’t ask about those. Sherri and Rochelle had been high school sweethearts, adorable and in love, and Sherri hadn’t cared that Rochelle was bisexual or that she wore makeup sometimes. 

 

Then, of course, Rochelle caught Sherri cheating on her with some guy, and the relationship was tossed in the gutter. Rochelle was heartbroken, so naturally, she wrote about it. And then Panic! Got a song about lying, sex, and subtle homosexuality. Rochelle got the better deal in the end, too, because Sherri was still in Las Vegas and Rochelle had a great boyfriend and band who loved her. 

 

Rochelle walked over and sat on the edge of the couch. “You know, if you want me to act like I’m your girlfriend now, I’d do it.”

 

“Why?” Linda asked. She motioned to Jon. “Also, wouldn’t Jon have an issue with that?”

 

Jon shrugged. “We’re already a polyamorous band. Might as well run with it.”

 

Rochelle looked at Linda. Linda looked between the two of them, trying to decide if they meant it or not. She rubbed her face. “Oh my God. You guys are actually serious about that.  _ No _ , Rochelle, I’m not going to pretend to date you to make my ex jealous. I don’t doubt that you’d be an amazing girlfriend, but I don’t want to make Sarah feel  _ anything _ . I want to move on, and live my own life, and figure out how she doesn’t fit into it.”

 

“We can do that, too,” Rochelle said. 

 

Brendon leaned around her and put his hand on Linda’s wrist. “I know Ry’s being dramatic, but seriously, if you need us to do anything for you, we’ve got your back. We’re all friends here, and friends support friends.”

 

“You guys are ridiculous,” Linda said. She looked up at Spencer, and he could tell she was laughing so that she didn’t cry. “I didn’t realise this was what I was signing up for when I agreed to let you guys rehearse in my parent’s basement, by the way. I thought you guys were going to be, like, a garage band or something.”

 

“We didn’t expect this either,” Dallon said. They shrugged. “But hey. Sometimes life throws you curveballs, and you’ve just got to hit them.”

 

Spencer nodded. He had no idea what would happen next, for any of them, but he knew that they had each other. They were a band and a Linda. She’d pretty much earned a spot in the band, at least in terms of friendship. The six of them were all going places, and Spencer was sure that wherever they ended up, they’d end up there together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed, and feel free to say hi to me on tumblr @spallonda!

**Author's Note:**

> Alright! Thanks for reading, please leave a comment/kudos to let me know how I did! I'll be on tumblr tomorrow and always, but for now, good night!!


End file.
